Invested
by storyfyingmaj
Summary: CSI cases & drama; Pairings: Mac/Stella, Danny/Lindsay, Don/OC, Jess/OC; Chapters 1-35 are Season 1, Chapters 36-? are Season 2
1. Notes

**Notes:**

This was originally posted on FF under the penname, "angel7lee," when I first started posting fanfiction online (senior year of high school to first term of freshman year of college). I've decided to re-upload this fic since I'm rather fond of it (it being my first lengthy fic that I stuck with for a long time and all) with some structural and grammar corrections (story and content are the same).

The _Invested. _universe encompasses the original CSI: NY universe from Seasons 1 through 5, with a few differences (then continues on for years).

To give you a general idea of the timeframes:

Assigning 2004-2005 for the aired Season 1, 2005-2006 for the aired Season 2, 2006-2007 for the aired Season 3, 2007-2008 for the aired Season 4, …

Here are some events to help put things into a timeline:  
**April 2002** - Jennifer Lee transfers to NYPD crime lab. (Hired with Danny Messer.)  
**November 2003** - Aiden Burns is hired by NYPD crime lab.  
**Fall****2004**- Events in "Blink" (_CSI: NY_Season 1, Episode 1)  
**September 2005** - Aiden Burns is fired.  
**May 2006** - Aiden Burns is murdered.  
**March ****2008** - Pennington incident (Events in _Invested. _(Season 1) Redacted & Restricted).

- I moved up the time table on Lindsay and Danny's relationship (no Rikki business) and eliminated Shane Casey escaping to wreak havoc upon them.  
- Stella does not leave for New Orleans.  
- Jess is not killed. Danny does not get paralyzed.  
- Don and Jess are not together since Don and Jen have been together since October 2004.

The team featured in _Invested._ is made up of Mac Taylor, Stella Bonasera, Danny Messer, Lindsay Monroe, Sheldon Hawkes, Donald Flack Jr., Sid Hammerback, Adam Ross, Jessica Angell, and Jennifer Lee (OC).

Mac Taylor - February 18, 1961  
Stella Bonasera - July 25, 1969  
Sheldon Hawkes - May 27, 1970  
Danny Messer - September 29, 1976  
Lindsay Monroe - March 13, 1976  
Don Flack - January 28, 1978  
Jen Lee - February 24, 1978  
Jess Angell - October 21, 1978  
Aiden Burns - June 17, 1980 [DECEASED]

The story is made up of CSI cases and original storylines.

**_Invested. _(Season 1) - covers Spring 2007 to Spring 2008 - Chapters 1 through 35**

**_Invested._ (Season 2) - covers Fall 2008 to Summer 2009 - Chapters 36 through ?**


	2. Chapter 1: One of Our Own Part 1

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 1: One of Our Own Part 1**

* * *

_Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl – with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there._

The young woman sashayed her hips, stepping to the beat of the music. A smile played upon her lips as she brushed her hair up into a messy bun.

The diamond on her finger shone in the dim light as her hands swept through her blonde locks.

_She would meringue and do the cha-cha. And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar across the crowded floor._

She danced into the bathroom and set a towel on the edge of the tub as she turned on the faucets. She ran her fingers through the coursing water, testing the temperature.

_They worked from 8 til 4. They were young and they had each other – who could ask for more?_

Satisfied, she tossed a handful of lavender bath salts into the bubbling water before making her way back into the bedroom.

_At the Copa, Copacabana – the hottest spot north of Havana._

She sighed, glancing at her figure in the mirror above the dresser. Her fingers traced the lines underneath her eyes and she shook her head, pursing her lips.

_At the Copa, Copacabana – music and passion were always in fashion! At the Copa…_

Then there was a shattering of glass upon wooden flooring – distant, but close enough.

Just down the stairs.

_They fell in love…_

The woman whirled around – instinctively reaching for her side, for the gun that wasn't there. She silently admonished herself for carelessly leaving her holster with her gun on the desk chair in the kitchen.

_His name was Rico – he wore a diamond._

She removed her engagement ring, gingerly placing it upon her dresser.

_He was escorted to his chair – he saw Lola dancing there…_

She retightened the sash of her robe as she carefully made her way into the hallway.

_And when she finished he called her over, but Rico went a bit too far – Tony sailed across the bar._

Her feet landed silently, quickly upon each carpeted step. She glanced at her front door – locked.

_Had _she left the lights on in the kitchen?

"John?" she called out, making her way to the opening, hoping it was just her fiancé coming home.

_And then the punches flew, and chairs were smashed in two – _

She felt the cool texture of the linoleum underneath her feet just before –

_There was blood and a single gunshot but just who shot who?_

Nothing.

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Stella ducked under the police tape strapped across the door and walked into a _very _clean crime scene.

If it weren't for the dead body, lying in the entrance way of the kitchen and bleeding into the carpeting, no one would have known that this house was the site of a homicide investigation – that is, if it weren't for the gaping hole in the victim's forehead left by a large caliber firearm. Suspiciously big? One should think so.

Danny stepped out from the kitchen holding a gun, one too small to have inflicted the wound upon the victim. The familiar flash and whir-click came from above, most likely Lindsay processing the vic's bedroom. Off to the right, Adam was dusting the banister for prints. Hawkes knelt by the victim – a young woman, just under 30 – inspecting the bullet wound.

"Wow."

Stella looked over her shoulder at the next CSI to arrive at the scene – a young Asian-American woman who greeted her with an expression of surprise. Jennifer Lee looked around quickly, noticing the apparent lack of struggle and the mayhem that would usually follow, "The place is so… _clean_."

"I know," Stella turned her focus back to the victim. "It's strange."

"Well, hopefully it'll make it easy for us," Jen shrugged before she made her way to the victim's body, kit in hand.

"The vic's name is Laura Conrad, age 28," Flack ducked under the tape, coming to stand next to Stella – notebook open and ready. "Her body was discovered by her fiancé, Johnathan Reeves. He says he came home after work, unlocked the door, turned on the lights and…" He gestured towards the body, "I think we know what he found."

Stella furrowed her brow, "Laura… Laura Conrad – why does her name sound so familiar?"

"Because she's one of our own," Jess called from the doorway. Stella and Flack turned to look at Detective Angell who made no move to come into the house. She kept her eyes fixed upon the woman lying on the ground, burning the image into her mind, "Laura and I graduated from the police academy together."

Stella quickly looked back at the woman's face.

A distant memory… 9 years… Stella brought a hand to her mouth, "I know her."

"_Detective Bonasera?"_

_She turned, "Yes?"_

_A young woman – she looked like a student – greeted her with a smile, "I'm Laura Conrad."_

_Stella returned her smile, "How can I help you, Laura?" She instantly liked this girl – this girl with the easy smile and vivacious eyes._

_Laura reached into her bag, pulling out a small box tied with a ribbon. She held it out to Stella, "You already have – thank you."_


	3. Chapter 2: One of Our Own Part 2

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 2: One of Our Own Part 2**

* * *

"How can there be _nothing_?" Stella slammed the folio down onto her desk. She ran a hand through her curls – frustration laced in the action.

Adam winced, gesturing an apology with uncertain, open palms, "Sorry, Stell… wish there was more."

"Yeah," she sighed and patted him on the arm, managing a smile for the nervous lab tech, "I'm sorry, Adam – thanks."

"Yeah…" he gave her one last furtive glance before scrambling out of her office.

It wasn't the first time they had run into a case that had turned up no evidence – they'd just have to work harder. _Someone _had committed a crime and that someone _had_ to have left behind _something anything – _to show that he had done it. "Surrender" wasn't exactly a term in Stella Bonasera's vocabulary – the unstoppable Greek beauty was no stranger to challenge. She had to calm down – she was getting _much _too worked out, _much_ too soon. This was _not_ the first time something like this had happened – she couldn't lose her head just yet.

"_Detective Bonasera? – I'm Laura Conrad."_

She didn't know what pushed her forward more – the fact that she knew this young woman or that this woman was a police officer. She just knew she had to figure it out – this killer could _not_ go free. She bit her lip, crossing her arms – she'd go over the evidence, or lack thereof, again and again. She had to – there was _no_ way this perp could get away.

The team had processed the house from top to bottom – there wasn't a single print that didn't belong to Laura Conrad or her fiancé. Johnathan Reeves had been brought in for questioning but he had a rock-solid alibi and there wasn't even a _hint_ of any bad feelings between him and Laura – he really was just the distraught, grieving fiancé this event had made him into.

Ballistics had no luck associating the bullet with any registered gun. It wasn't until a bodega robbery later in the week that they were able to match the bullet to _any_ gun. But there wasn't much to go on and its discovery merely confirmed their suspicions – a .50 caliber Desert Eagle: clean, no serial numbers, no fingerprints – large, conspicuous, and _frustrating_. How could they not nail such a gun on _anyone?_

This perp was _good_. Not only did he leave no trace of _himself_ behind, but also left no trace of just about anything. Sid managed to lift a few fibers from the bullet wound when he was performing his autopsy but those just led them right back to the lovely, ornate sofa cushions in the vic's home. Undoubtedly, the perp had used one of the cushions from the living room as a silencer – but of course, he had been careful and taken the cushion with him.

Her eyes flitted from one picture to the next, fingers tracing different objects in different squares – _hoping _that something would pop out at her, _praying _that after a month of silence that "nothing" would become "something."

She was so focused that she didn't hear the rapping on the glass.

She sighed heavily – both hands pushing her hair back as she shook her head.

"I'm guessing that we still have no leads on the Laura Conrad case."

Stella turned to see Mac standing at her door, with his solemn expression and knowing eyes. She threw her hands up, shrugging, "You've got that right…"

"Maybe you're chasing too hard, Stella." He stepped towards her as he carefully looked at her, "Let _t_- and you – _breathe_ a little." He opened his hand towards her, hoping – that _maybe_ this time – she'd get the hint.

But the man knew Stella. "You _know _I can't do that," she grinned ruefully.

He let a shrewd smile escape, "You've got to give me some credit for trying at least."

She laughed, "Oh, Mac." She kissed him on the cheek, "Thanks." She swept the photos into their folio and snatched them up.

He raised a brow, "For what?"

"Oh," she smiled at him over her shoulder as she strode out, "You know."

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Jen jolted awake from the buzzing beneath her back. Groaning, she pawed through the layers of sheets with one hand.

_Bzzt… bzzt… bzzt… bzzt… bzzt… bzzt…_

She wrinkled her nose – the incessant buzzing was _really _a bother when all she really wanted to do was sleep.

Managing to fish the phone out from under her, she hit "snooze" – _8 am, time to get ready for work... _She sighed, _Better get my ass up… _

Rapidly rubbing her eyes, she sat up – or at least, she _tried…_

Don Flack was fast asleep with his arms tightly wrapped around Jen. Her stirring seemed to not have bothered him at all for there he was, eyes tightly closed – _very_ peacefully sleeping.

She smiled wryly, shaking her head as she carefully attempted to extricate herself from his embrace. The man just snuggled closer to her, squeezing her even tighter. Jen had to laugh – Donald Flack, Jr., the straight-laced detective and playful Casanova with the ready smile, was just a vulnerable baby in the mornings. As far as Jen was concerned, Don was like a ginormous teddy- bear – and when the two of them got into fights, this _always _gave her the upper hand.

"Flack," she said quietly, tapping on his arms.

No response.

"Flack?" she said slightly louder.

He managed a quiet sniff.

"Don~" she hissed in a sing-songy voice.

His eyes remained stubbornly shut.

She pursed her lips – she hadn't wanted to wake him _completely _but… "DON!"

He opened one eye, squinting, "Yeah?"

But though his voice was slightly hoarse and he made all the proper motions, there was something about the twinkle in his eye – he was much too awake.

She shook her head, giving an exasperated snort, "You weren't _actually _sleeping, _were_ you?" But she couldn't stop the smile from breaking across her face.

"Now what makes you say _that_, Jen," he grinned. His charming attitude just about screamed, _You know you love me. _

And that she did – almost ridiculously so – but she merely raised an eyebrow in response as if to say, _Uh-huh. Don't even, smart guy._

He shrugged sheepishly, the playful grin not really managing to disappear, "Good morning?" He gave her his best cadet beam.

"Uh-huh," she laughed. "You're ridiculous… come on," she tugged on his arm, "I have to get to work!"

"Mhm," he sighed, slightly loosening his hold, "Sure."

She pressed slightly – his arms weren't about to let go. She smiled amusedly, "You _really_ ought to stop, Don."

"Maybe," he tightened his grip again, kissing her on the forehead, "But then again, maybe not."

"You've got to get to work too, you know," she looked into his icy blue eyes, tracing his cheek with one hand.

He sighed, "Don't I know it… can't we just – "

_Bzzt… bzzt… bzzt…_

He rolled his eyes, throwing himself back onto the pillows as he let her scramble for her phone.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

He automatically reached for his own phone lying on the bedside table.

She glanced up at him from her text, "You were saying…?" She raised her phone towards him – _Homicide at 215 East 80__th__ Street, Upper East Side._

He flashed his at her as well, _215 East 80__th_, "I guess, I wasn't."


	4. Chapter 3: One of Our Own Part 3

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 3: One of Our Own Part 3**

* * *

It was now mid-October. It had just been spring when they had discovered Laura Conrad murdered in her home.

It had _just_ been spring…

"_Vic's name is Christina Gallahager, age 29…"_

"_Jennifer Patrickson, 31 years old…"_

"_Her name is Sierra Jimenez, she's 29 years old…"_

"_Diedre Jacobs – 28 years old…"_

"_Lauren Gillian, age 30…"_

After they had found the body of Margaret Fitchinson, age 27, in her Upper East Side apartment, the CSIs had been brought to the scene of five more bodies in the same number of months.

No DNA. No trace. No useable evidence at all.

Nothing.

This silence tested the patience of the CSIs. They had processed every piece of evidence recovered from each scene over and over again. Working long hours, they had worked every article of clothing, swept every piece of furniture analyzed every photo, and dug up any and all digital records – and then some.

And yet they had nothing.

The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was that after seven months not only did they not have any leads in any of the seven cases but they also could not link any of the seven murders to each other forensically. They could see the similarities: beautiful women in their late 20s or early 30s who had been murdered swiftly and cleanly, leaving behind no incriminating evidence, by a sicko who collected their badges as trophies of his accomplishments – seven beautiful, promising _policewomen _with their careers and lives ahead of them, seven missing shields.

But there was only so much the CSIs could _assume_ – only so much that they could speculate based on _instinct _and _gut feelings._

Stella stared at the calendar she had hung up on her wall after the recovery of the third victim – she had taken to counting the days. It had been two weeks since the discovery of Lauren Gillian's body and Stella was watching the next two weeks with a careful eye – each day weighing heavily upon her, _knowing _that if she didn't catch this sick bastard soon then she'd be at another crime scene in the first week of the next month with the same M.O. as the past seven.

She sighed, biting hard on her bottom lip. Last week had been Lauren Gillian's funeral – Stella had been there. She had been to all of them, the funerals of all seven women and the memorial services held by each precinct in honor of one of their own. She had become too invested, too emotionally attached – _she had made it personal._

Mac frowned, worry etched in his brow, every time he saw Stella walk past his office in all black – coming to the office after returning from a funeral. He had warned her, now and in previous cases, and knew that _she _knew – that the same never-ending determination and passion that Stella brought to each case was both commendable and damning – that it was dangerous to get attached. He knew he could pull her off the case, and he had been tempted a few times, but he was also angry – there wasn't a person in the NYPD who wasn't scared and furious about what had been happening.

Stella pulled open her top drawer; she kept ribbons from each memorial service there. She gently felt the silky surface of each ribbon. She was reminding herself, keeping the case fresh in her mind. It was why she went to each funeral – why she made it a point to meet the family members, to see their grief. It was why she went to each memorial service – why she made sure to see the faces of those who were still alive and wearing their shields upon their chest, to see their looks of frustration and the rage in their eyes.

Stella Bonasera would _not _forget.

She couldn't.

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Jen cracked her gum, letting out a puff of minty breath. She glanced at her cell phone – _8:10 pm_, he was late.

She was wide awake, on edge – she never liked coming to Flatbush, especially alone. Past altercations with suspects in different cases had taught her to avoid the area if she could and she had a knife wound too close to her heart for her to _ever _forget that. Don, and Jess and the team, would _kill _her if they knew she was in Brooklyn by herself after that incident. But she had no choice, one of her oldest confidential informants had contacted her and promised that he had information on who might be providing the cop killer with guns.

She had her overcoat draped over her shoulder, one hand ready on her SIG underneath. She didn't want to look like she was _looking_ for trouble but she wanted to keep her hand on her firearm – it made her feel more secure.

She ruffled her hair with her free hand, her patience waning, _Where _is _he…?_ She flipped open her phone, getting ready to punch in the numbers.

"Hey, officer."

She sighed in relief, turning to face him with a smile, "_Detective._"

The 5'10" blasian man grinned cheekily at her, exuding an attitude that was years younger than his 37 year old self, flashing perfectly white teeth that pretty much glowed in the dim light. Latrice Sumners – the only son of Jeffrey Sumners, former amateur boxer, and Coco Chiang, a Chinese immigrant. He had played with the big boys in the gang circles for 10 years before he turned informant nine years ago for a young Officer Jennifer Lee, fresh out of the police academy – years before she had even taken root in New York.

"How've you been, Lee?" he gave her a quick hug.

"Could be better," she shrugged. "Hows' Joey, Lat?"

"Just turned three – she's becoming more and more like her mother," he wrinkled his nose. "Already nagging on me – she might not say it like her mom but, man, the _attitude._" He lout out a good-natured laugh.

Jen shook her head, laughing, "I'm not surprised at all… Sorry that I couldn't make it to her birthday, did you get my present?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "She loves it."

"That's good," she put her arms through the arms of her overcoat and shrugged it into place. She reflexively hugged her arms – it wasn't just the chill that caused it.

Lat gave her a knowing look, "Let's get you out of here quickly." She nodded in thanks. "The name's Ron McCarty, he's one of Henson's boys."

"Henson's in on this?" she raised a brow. Patty Henson was notorious for his expertise in the drug realm – he'd served his time for peddling heroin but went straight soon after his controversial release. He ran a club in Midtown now and while he still managed to get into public disturbance trouble a few times, cop killing wasn't really something he'd do.

He shook his head, "No, just McCarty – Henson probably has no idea that one of hs hires is using his club as a place to hide black market firearms."

She was getting more anxious – there was _something_ here and it was a breath of fresh air in a case that had remained so static for so long, "What does this have to do with our cop killer?"

"Remember Paul?"

Paul Henson, Patty Henson's nephew, was a decent kid – a biomechanics major at Columbia University and Joey's godfather, "Yeah?"

When he was down here for Joey's birthday, he mentioned that there were rumors at his school about some boys who had managed to get their hands on black market gear – who _claimed_ to have gotten them from Paul's uncle. Paul swears his uncle has nothing to do with it but that maybe some shady guys who worked for his uncle knew something."

"What does this have to do with – "

" – I'm getting to it, Lee," he cut her off gently.

She smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry."

"A few days ago, I ran into some old friends. One of them was really worked up about the Lauren Gillian murder, said he knew the girl from the 71st precinct – that she had helped keep his 10 year old out of some trouble before – " Both Lat and Jen quickly turned upon hearing a loud crash from up the street. When it turned out to just be a cat that had overturned a a trash can, Lat continued, "Well, this guy said that he had heard about Ron McCarty peddling _un-serialized _guns – anything from glocks to things like the Desert Eagle you told me was used to kill Laura Conrad – you might want to ask McCarty a few questions."

Jen's eyes couldn't contain the excitement she felt at the moment – this _was_ something. They _finally _had a lead.

"Thanks so much, Lat," she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Take care of yourself, kid." He gave a small salute before turning and walking away from the little light the old streetlamp had provided.

Jen quickly started to walk towards her car as she dialed "six."

"Come on… pick up, pick up, pick up," she whispered.

– _Click – "Bonasera."_

"Stell – I've got something."

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Mac arrived at the scene right after Hawkes and Lindsay.

He quickly set his case down and crouched down next to Hakes, "What's the prognosis, Sheldon?"

Hawkes pointed a gloved finger at the bullet wound in the stomach, "Shot to the abdomen – COD's got to be exsanguination." He lifted the victim's left wrist and traced the splotches on the skin, "Defensive bruising." He then lifted her right wrist and traced the air above the shoulder, "Shattered wrist and dislocated shoulder – she fought hard." Hawkes gently placed the arm back.

Mac carefully lifted the body by the shoulders, "Going by lividity, I'd say she's been dead for about two hours."

"That's what I was thinking," Hawkes nodded. But considering the amount of blood she's lost, exact TOD will be hard to determine until we get the body to Sid." He reached over to his kit and pulled out a small, clear evidence packet. He handed it to Mac, "The bullet I pulled from the wound – 9mm."

Flack came towards the two of them from the door, "Her name's Sarah Lucas, age 30 – 24th precinct."

"Police officer?" Hawkes looked up at Flack who nodded grimly.

"Any chance this one's linked to the others?"

"We can't say for sure," mac turned his head to one side, carefully examining the nasty gash on the woman's forehead. "But if it is," he stood up, "I think our killer's just made his first mistake."


	5. Chapter 4: One of Our Own Part 4

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 4: One of Our Own Part 4**

* * *

Jen entered _The Paradise_, making her way to the bar. Stella stuck close behind, quickly and carefully scanning the crowds as she followed.

Jen leaned upon the countertop and tapped her fingers on the surface of the table, catching the attention of the bartender. He made his way over to her as he shook his cocktail shakers. "What can I get you?" he smiled, flipping blonde waves out of his eyes.

She smiled charmingly, flashing her badge, "Your boss."

"Ah," he lost the smile immediately, straightening up and setting the shakers to the side. "Just a minute." He turned to go, glancing just once over his shoulder at them before making his way out of the bar area and up the stairs.

Stella looked after him with an amused grin. Turning back to her companion, she remarked, "I think he liked you."

"This badge never did win me any bonus points with the guys," Jen replied wryly, shaking her badge at the older woman before placing it back upon her belt.

"What can I do for you today, detectives?"

Stella and Jen turned to face Patty Henson – an average-build German man with a crooked nose set between two sharp blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his silver hair. His thick accent flowed out of his prominent, wide lips, set in a permanently playful grin. He leaned forward on the tabletop, unabashedly looking Stella up and down.

Jen stifled a grin as she gently tapped Stella knowingly on the leg with her toe. Stella smiled thinly, "Let's go to your office and have a nice chat, hm?"

"Of course," Henson waved them up the stairs, "This way."

"I don't envy you," Jen whispered under her breath.

"Neither do I," Stella whispered back, rolling her eyes, as they followed Henson up the stairs.

Henson immediately went to his desk, settling in his tall, pillowed office chair, and pulled out a thick cigar. He waved the case at the two detectives, raising an eyebrow. The two women shook their heads, making faces at the overly strong scent of tobacco.

A quick glance around Henson's well-furnished office made Jen sigh involuntarily; one of the perks of being a detective was being constantly reminded of how humble a salary New York City's finest boasted. Stella wrinkled her nose as she ran a hand over the walnut framing of the first of the twin fine-leather couches set in front of Henson's wide, rich mahogany desk, "I see you've managed to keep yourself well-stocked on expensive furniture." _Seeing as you're rocking fixtures that are each worth about two months' rent…_

Henson laughed, spreading his arms in a broad shrug, "What can I say? – This life is treating me well."

"Uh-huh," Stella clasped her hands together and approached the desk. "Well, we're not here about your fine taste in woods, are we?"

Henson took a puff of his cigar, shrugging again, "I would not know, detective – after all, your visit is quite a surprise to me. I am a straight businessman; this club is all I own. I make _good_ money – _legal_ money."

Jen straightened up from inspecting the large porcelain jaguar crouching beneath the lamp-stand. "See," she approached Henson's desk herself, lightly sitting upon the edge of it, "As much as I have doubts about your '_legal _money,' the paperwork checks out and we have no other evidence to think that you are anything _but_ a simple businessman." She wrinkled her nose, delicately taking Henson's cigar from his fingers and putting it out. "However," she brushed her hands against each other, trying to rid herself of the residue, "We can't say the same for your men."

"My men are all trustworthy!" Henson protested, straightening up in his chair, "They are like my sons!"

"Uh-huh," Stella crossed his arms, "We'd like to speak to Ron McCarty."

"Ron?" Henson looked at her confusedly, "He is one of my most trusted - !"

"Well then, you have nothing to be worried about." Jen tilted her head, smiling at him. Henson frowned, waving over one of his men. He grunted something in German, to which the excessively tall man nodded and disappeared, ducking under the doorframe. Jen hopped lightly off the desk, joining Stella.

"Henson has no idea," Jen muttered.

"Yeah," Stella nodded, keeping an eye on the door. She whispered dryly out of the corner of her mouth, "Tragic, isn't it?"

At that moment, the man returned with a much shorter, red-haired man who took one fidgety look at Stella and Jen before turning in the opposite direction –

"Stell - !" Jen shoved past the tall man, running after McCarty.

"Yeah - !" Stella flipped out her communicator, "This is Detective Bonasera requesting backup at _The Paradise_ in Midtown - !"

McCarty scrambled down the first few steps of the circling staircase before leaping over the banister and landing sloppily on the counter of the bar. Jen threw herself over the banister and landed right behind him, crushing a martini glass with her hand. She flung aside the glass pieces as she picked herself up, keeping her eye on McCarty wobbling as he ran along the edge of the countertop. She glanced around quickly, noticing the bartender looking at her with wide eyes – _cocktail shakers in hand._ She flashed him a smile and grabbed the shakers from him as she continued her chase, flinging one hard at McCarty. It hit him in the back of the head, causing him to stagger slightly – slowing him down enough for her to tackle him off the counter and onto the ground. She gritted her teeth at the hard impact, quickly up-righting herself and pressing her knee forcefully into McCarty's back.

"I think you broke something…" he groaned.

"Ron McCarty," she grabbed his arms firmly, bringing her handcuffs to his wrists, "Detective Jennifer Lee – I'd like to take you down to the station with me to ask you a few questions." She grabbed him by the scruff of his clothing, yanking him upwards.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" he whined, spitting out blood.

Jen rolled her eyes, "You _ran_, smartass. That doesn't sound particularly _innocent_, does it?"

Stella came up to them, taking McCarty's other arm. "You okay?" she asked Jen.

"Yeah," Jen nodded quickly, grimacing, "Let's get this guy out of here. I smell like a dirty Irishman – I could use a shower."

Stella laughed, shaking her head.

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Mac took the forceps to the piece of cloth under the magnifying glass, carefully taking apart the fibers. He raised a strand to the light, moving the neck of the magnifying lens up as well. He pursed his lips –

"What you got there, Mac?" Danny tapped him on the shoulder with a manila folder, startling the serious man.

Mac smiled, relaxing his stance. He raised the fiber up into the light again, showing Danny, "A piece of cloth Hawkes pulled from the victim's mouth – it's cotton bandage gauze."

"Cool, cool," Danny nodded, pushing up his glasses, "But I've got something better." He grinned as he flipped open the folder.

Mac raised an eyebrow, setting the forceps down on the lab bench, "Please share."

"Remember how we found partial prints on the floor near the victim?"

_Lindsay knelt down on the floor carefully inspecting the wooden paneling._

There's something… _She grabbed her dusting kit, keeping her eyes on the spot that had caught her attention. She twisted the brush in the black dusting dye before sweeping the implement across the floorboards, _Boom.

_Partial prints._

"Well," Danny handed Mac the folder, showing him a mug shot of a young male with blonde hair, blue eyes, and well-built features. "I ran the prints through AFIS and they're a match to one Phillip Shawnson. Student at Columbia, squeaky clean record except for a DUI four years ago on his 21st birthday – and now, maybe, murder."

Mac grinned, closing the folder and handing it back to him, "Good job, Danny – let's get Flack on this."

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Flack looked up from the paperwork in his hands as the elevator doors opened. He strode down the CSI lab's halls, heading for Mac's office.

"Just the man I wanted to see," Jen smiled as she skipped into stride with him.

Don grinned, "And to what do I owe this honor?"

"I need – "

He stopped in his steps, noticing the gauze on Jen's left hand, "What happened to your hand?"

She doubled back, shrugging, "It's nothing – "

"What happened?" he asked seriously, grabbing her wrist.

She winced slightly, "Careful, darl – it's still a bit tender."

"Sorry," he looked her in the eyes, waiting for her answer – he wasn't about to let it go.

Jen shook her head, _Oh Don…_Though she thought his worry excessive at times, she knew she loved him even more – if that were even possible – when he went into "protective-boyfriend-mode" like this, "I landed on a martini glass – it's just a couple cuts." She shrugged again, tugging her wrist out of his grasp.

"Jen," he sighed. "You – "

She smiled, cutting him off, "So you up for doing a favor for an injured detective?"

He straightened up, shaking the papers in his hand slightly, "Need to take this up to Mac and head out to see a suspect."

Jen turned, leading the way to Mac's office, "The Sarah Lucas case?"

"Yeah," he caught up to her in two long strides. "So what's this favor?"

"I need a warrant for a Phillip Shawnson."

Don raised a brow, "Well, you're in luck." He pushed open the door, "Mac, looks like we've got a connection." He tossed a nod towards Jen, "They're looking for Phillip Shawnson too."

"I'm running on the words of men at the moment," Jen shrugged, "Evidence would be nice."

"What do you have?" Mac asked, coming out from behind his desk.

"One of my informants told me that Ron McCarty, Patty Henson's right hand man, was running black market weapons under the table – un-serialized, completely clean. Stella and I brought in McCarty for questioning and after a few minutes of denying, he confessed to selling weapons – specifically, a set of Desert Eagles – to a Columbia student, Phillip Shawnson." She spread her hands wide, "I don't know about you guys but I know it's hard to run across one _completely_ clean gun – particularly of that size – not to mention a full set."

"Looks like we have a connection between the perp and the weapons," Mac nodded, handing Jen the folder with the DNA evidence recovered at the Sarah Lucas crime scene.

Don raised the warrant up, shrugging, "What are we waiting for?"


	6. Chapter 5: One of Our Own Part 5

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 5: One of Our Own Part 5**

* * *

_412._ Flack pounded on the apartment door, barking, "Phillip Shawnson, NYPD – open up!"

He glanced at Jen standing across from him, readjusting the gun in her hand. She, in turn, shot a glance towards Mac, standing behind Flack, as they all waited for a sound.

Hearing no response, Flack nodded at the building superintendent who scurried forward with his keys to unlock the door. The three detectives made their way into the apartment, followed closely behind by two uniforms.

Mac scanned the living room – a simple setting with a television, coffee table, and a couch – before glancing into the kitchen area. It was a familiar scene with a few pots resting on the stove, unwashed dishes sitting in the sink, and brown bananas, a few days old, maturing strongly in a basket next to the fridge. He lowered his gun slightly as he took a look inside the floor-length pantry in the corner – spices, cereals, and _medical supplies_. Mac picked up a roll of white bandage gauze, unrolling it slightly and holding up the woven fibers to the light…

Flack checked the doors on the left hand side, quickly going through the rooms, as Jen made her way on the right hand side. He reached for the doorknob –

Jen whirled around as she heard a female scream coming from the other side of the room. A woman had emerged from the door that Don had just been about to open, completely naked except for a towel wrapped around her head which she tore off, scrambling to cover her body.

"Whoa!" Flack had averted his gaze quickly. "Who the hell are you?"

"I should ask the same of you!" the woman screeched, tightening the towel around her.

Flack flashed his badge, still not looking at the woman, "NYPD, ma'am."

Jen coughed, covering up a laugh, as she met eyes with the blushing Don who exchanged spots with her. She pulled out her own badge, showing it to the woman, "Detective Lee." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at Don, "This is Detective Flack – please answer his question, miss."

The woman crossed her arms tightly across her chest, "My name is Laura Gage."

"What is your relation to Phillip Shawnson?"

"I'm his girlfriend," she replied defensively. "I _live_ here."

Jen raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mac who had come to join them. She focused her attention back on Laura, "Do you know where your boyfriend is?"

"No clue," Laura shrugged, pushing her wet hair to one side. "He took off about a week ago, saying that he'd be at a friend's house working on his science project."

Flack finally managed to turn back around and look at Laura, "Did he mention any names?"

She stared back at Don, quite accusingly, "No, it was late – I was half asleep. I didn't bother to ask for any names before he rushed back out."

Flack cleared his throat and turned to Mac, "I'll call a few people at the university." He pulled out his phone, dialing a number, as he left the apartment.

Laura snorted, turning her focus back to Jen, "What is this about anyway?"

Jen glanced at Mac, who nodded at her, before stating, matter-of-fact, "Your boyfriend is a suspect in an open homicide investigation."

Laura burst out laughing, "That's ridiculous." She turned to the two officers and Mac standing to the side, "Are you serious? – _My_ Phil? – You think Phillip _murdered_ somebody?"

Mac pulled out a photo of Sarah Lucas, showing it to Laura, "Do you recognize this woman?"

Laura looked at it, shaking her head, "No – should I?"

Mac pulled out more photos of the other police women, "How about these women?"

"No," Laura crossed her arms again, "Like I said – _should_ I?"

"I guess not," Mac put the photos away. "Ms. Gage, we would like to ask your permission to search your boyfriend's apartment."

She threw a hand up exasperatedly, "What for? – There is no way Phillip – "

"We understand," Mac looked her steadily in the eyes. "However, the evidence points us in the direction of your boyfriend and we must take the proper measures expected of us."

"This is _beyond_ ridiculous – "

"Ms. Gage, we don't _need_ your permission," Jen pulled out the warrant, showing it to her. "However, it would be nice to have it."

Laura pressed her lips together into a hard line, her eyes quickly scanning the document. She bit her lip, sighing, "Fine."

"I suggest you put on some clothes," Mac nodded at her before turning to go grab his kit from the hall.

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Flack came back into the apartment to find the place overrun by the CSIs. Stella and Lindsay had come to join Mac and Jen; and between the four of them, they had the whole place covered.

"Hey, Flack," Stella patted him knowingly on the shoulder, a grin on her lips.

He slapped a hand to his face, "Jen told you, didn't she…"

"Actually, it was Mac," Lindsay piped up, popping her head through the entranceway of the kitchen.

"It's okay, darl," Jen emerged from one of the bedrooms. She gave him a peck on the cheek before pulling back with a sly grin, "She _did _have a nice body."

Flack groaned, "Can we please move past this…?"

"Flack," Mac emerged from another bedroom. Lindsay retreated back into the kitchen and Jen stepped away from Don, returning to the bedroom. "What'd you find?"

The tall detective flipped open his notebook, glancing down at the new pages, "His research partners are Harold Ingers, David Piercing, and Joanna McGraw." He looked up, flipping the notebook shut, "Thankfully, they were all in the lab today and I could question the lot of them at once. None of them have seen Shawnson in over _two _weeks and I'm willing to believe them."

"Why's that?" Stella raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it turns out that Shawnson missed an important date and now they might completely lose funding for their three yearlong science project – which is also their thesis for their doctorates." Don shrugged, "Sounded pretty serious to me – they didn't seem particularly happy. If _anybody_ wants to know where Shawnson is – it's those three. Plus, you should've seen them," he laughed slightly, waving broadly with his hand, "_Total _science geeks."

Stella raised a brow.

He winked, "Oh, even more than you lab rats."

Stella shook her head with a smile as Mac managed a grin, "Anything else?"

Flack shook his head, "Not from the university. His professors haven't seen him for two weeks either, which they say is odd because he's always present and at the front of the class."

"I'm starting to like Shawnson more and more for this," Stella frowned. "But we haven't found anything odd in the past hour or so we've been here."

"_Yet,_" Mac nodded at her, giving her a knowing smile, "We just need to look harder."

Stella nodded, returning the gesture.

"I think, I just found something," Jen called from the bedroom, "Can you guys come in here?"

Stella and Mac made their way over to the doorway and were greeted by a pair of legs sticking out from the closet in the far wall as they entered. "Jen?" Stella called out bemusedly.

The younger woman emerged from underneath the hanging clothes. "I was looking around in the closet when I found this," she stood up, pressing the hangers with their clothes firmly to one side. She pointed, directing their vision to a hole in the wall, "I thought it was strange so I pressed around a little bit like so," she shoved her hands against the wall's area directly surrounding the hole – a small doorway popped open, large enough for a man to crawl through, "And voila."

Stella and Mac raised their eyebrows. Flack shook his head, "Sketchy apartment complexes…"

"I think we need the key for apartment 414," Stella turned to Flack.

"One ratty-looking super coming right up," he saluted, backing out of the doorway.

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They had all gathered in the conference room to go over the new information they had recovered. With such a hot lead at hand, Mac had reassigned all of the CSIs to the policewomen case.

They all stared at the screen in grim silence as Adam pulled up photos of Shawnson's other apartment, apartment 414. Some of the walls were _covered_ in photos of the dead policewomen taking part in their everyday activities; it appeared that Shawson would methodically stalk each of his victims for weeks before killing them. Other walls were covered in hand drawn diagrams and charts for how he would go about the specifics, along with blueprints of the women's homes and copies of their daily schedules, personal records, and arrest records.

_Attention to so much detail._

It made sense: they could accredit the lack of evidence to the careful construction of each of his crimes. Shawnson was a genius – it was a pity that he only knew how to express just how smart he was through violent crimes…

But what _really_ got the attention of the CSIs was the "wall of tribute." It was the back of the door, a place where one could hang up things to remind them of certain events or errands as they were running out – a place where _he _hung up the badges of the slain policewomen: each badge placed carefully in line with the official NYPD photo of its owner; all arranged in a neat, orderly pattern.

Then right below them, a small hanging box with a homely tag on it reading: "To Do."

"These are the photos Mac retrieved from that box." Adam tapped a key on his keyboard, bringing up an array of headshots of female NYPD officers.

Hawkes looked from the screen to two of the women who were actually sitting in the room: Jen and Stella. He had to confirm, "You two are targets?"

Jen nodded, biting her lip, "Jess too."

This brought a whole new level of severity to the situation. Adam shut off the projector and sat down in one of the empty chairs, uncertainly looking at each face set in a serious, pensive manner.

Lindsay cleared her throat. "See," she tossed a file on top of the table, startling everyone's focus to her, "I don't know whether to be _relieved _or _insulted_ that I'm not on that wall."

They all smiled nervously, glancing around and shaking their heads, before they gave way to full laughter.

Stella brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle further laughter, "Oh Lindsay…"

Thank god for Lindsay – even for the trained crime scene investigators who turned to morbid humor, more often than not, in their line of work, the events of the past couple months had tested them. Any amount of humor managed now was a breath of relief. At least they were living – they could laugh and get through the day.

"Psh," Jen shoved her slightly. "Don't you just need the approval of a certain troublesome detective?"

"Hey!" Danny barked defensively, straightening up in his chair.

"Did I name any names?" Jen smiled, getting up as she gathered the folders at hand. "I'm going to go talk to these women – Stella, come with?" The woman in question nodded, picking up her own files.

"Why don't you just take Flack?" Danny said suggestively, crossing his arms smugly across his chest. Lindsay elbowed him but Jen didn't even blink as she rifled through the files she had collected.

"You _really_ think I'd take that playboy with me to go interview a bunch of single policewomen? – Better to take STell."

"Uh-huh," Danny raise an eyebrow deviously, "I detect a little something called jealousy." He spread his arms, shrugging his shoulders as he gave a meaningful look to Hawkes who just shook his head with a small smile.

Jen looked up from the papers, meeting his eyes, "You know, Danny? – I really have no idea what you're talking about." She did a quick glance back and forth between him and Lindsay, "Mhm."

She turned and strode away. Danny's mouth dropped open slightly as he confusedly looked towards Lindsay who gave him a pitying look.

"There's always next time, buddy," Hawkes chuckled, getting up from the table.

Stella shrugged, patting him on the shoulder as she followed Jen out, "You always lose, Danny."

Danny slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head, "I hate how she can do that…"


	7. Chapter 6: One of Our Own Part 6

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 6: One of Our Own Part 6**

* * *

Don furrowed his brows, his eyes re-reading the last line of the police report he had in his hands. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, _Paperwork can be such a bother…_

Setting down the folder, he glanced at the watch on his wrist – _6:28 pm_. He looked around at the other detectives still at their desks as he reached for his phone, _Dinner sounds good right about now…_ He flipped open the phone, fingers ready to punch in the keys –

"Who you calling?"

He looked up with a ready smile, "My date."

Jen reached over her head, collecting her long, brown hair over one shoulder, as she sat on the edge of his desk. "Is she pretty?" she teased, her eyes sparkling.

But her husky tone matched the dark bags under her eyes and betrayed the beautiful woman's true emotional state. He placed a hand on her knee, sitting up as he carefully looked up at her, "She's _tired._"

She smiled, placing her own hand over his, "I'm more worried about you." She poked him in the forehead with her free hand, "Look at these wrinkles!"

He grabbed at her hand, grinning at her continued playful tone, "Jen – "

She shook her head, hopping off the desk, "I'm _hungry_ – how rude of this gentleman to neglect his date. She raise an eyebrow, hand on hip.

Don stood up and shrugged on his overcoat before giving a mock bow, "Deepest apologies."

Jen laughed, grabbing him by the arm, "Come on, you silly detective."

"Whoa, there," he teased, "That's a very unladylike grip you've got there – I'd be worried 'bout getting charged with police brutality."

"Psh," she stuck out her tongue, leading him to the doors, "I'd be more worried about how you're going to sate my manly appetite with that measly salary of yours."

"God, spare me," he slapped a hand to his forehead, shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Jen's laughter met the blaring of horns and the splashing of tires as they made their way down the street. The cold wind hit her full in the face, blasting her with a breath of early winter. The air was heavy with more rain that would undoubtedly come later that evening. She pulled closer to Don, bringing her coat closer around her neck, "I hate when it gets cold but it's wet and rainy instead of snowy…"

"Wow," he looked down at her, raising a brow amusedly, "Is that a petulant tone I detect?"

She raised her own eyebrow in response, "'_Petulant_?'"

He shrugged, grinning, "Gotta build up my vocab to keep up with you."

She shook her head with a fond laugh, "Oh, Don – you know I don't – "

"Detective Lee!"

They broke arms as they both turned to see who had called. A slim, blonde woman quickly approached them, fighting a gust of wind that threatened to rip her coat open from her fingers.

Don squinted, pulling his head back, "Isn't that Shawnson's girlfriend?"

"I think you're right," Jen confusedly walked towards Laura Gage, helping to close the gap between them, "Ms. Gage? How can I help you?"

Neither Don nor Jen saw it coming – Laura's hand lashing out and coming down hard upon Jen's face. Jen barely managed to maintain her balance, bringing a hand to her smarting cheek – her eyes wide with shock.

"Hey - !" Don shouted, angrily pushing forward, towards Laura, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jen reached out, putting a firm hand on his arm, and stepped in front of his path.

Jen looked straight at Laura, searching her eyes, "What…?"

"That's for making my life living hell," the woman seethed, furiously pushing her unruly hair behind an ear.

"How the - ?" Don stepped forward again. Jen pushed firmly with her hand, holding him back.

"I can't go _anywhere_! I have to fucking _justify _myself every time I do anything!" Laura waved her hands furiously, her gaze not focused on Jen standing before her. "Do you know what it's like to be _hounded_ by reporters and photographers who want to get the scoop on the killer's girlfriend?"

Don let out a bark of harsh laughter, "The fact that your little boyfriend turned out to be a psychotic bastard is _Jen's_ fault?" There was a dangerous glint to his eyes, _This broad better be glad she's a woman – but I might forget that in about two seconds…_

Jen turned around, meeting his eyes, "Don, please – can you wait for me at the corner?"

He gritted his teeth, hissing under his breath, "She's crazy!"

"Just do it, please?" she gave his arm a squeeze, not breaking her gaze – pleading with him.

"Fine," Don turned and strode away in one swift motion, fury laced in his movement.

Jen turned back to the woman glaring at her, _Unbelievable…_"Ms. Gage, you can go to the station and ask for police protection."

The fiery blonde snorted, "That's fucking great – why don't I just wear a sign that screams that I'm the girl who slept with the man who's face is covering Times Square at the moment?"

"I really don't understand what you're hoping to achieve from doing this," Jen shook her head, tiredly massaging her temple.

"It must be nice, having a nice badge to justify ruining people's lives!" Laura hissed. "You know, Phillip and I were _happy _– we were smart, we were in love – it was perfect! Then you come down and rain false accusations upon him and _ruin_ – "

"'False accusations?'" Jen let out an incredulous laugh, losing her calm, "You're still convinced that he's _innocent?_"

"He _has_ to be!" Laura was now having a hard time maintaining her expression, holding back obvious tears, "I _know_ him! – He _can't_ be the one who killed all those women! – He just _can't _– !"

"I doubt you ever knew him," Jen cut her off harshly.

"How dare you - ?"

"Are you _listening_ to yourself?" Jen shook her head pityingly, "Ms. Gage, the evidence is _undeniable – _Phillip Shawnson _is_ the man who _murdered _eight police officers – _eight_," she spat out, gesturing angrily, "He killed _eight_ _upstanding_, _accomplished_, _lovely_ women for _sick sport._" _I can't believe this._ "Eight women whose families are _wondering_, losing sleep over, why we don't have the _monster_ who _ruined_ their lives by _slaughtering _their loved ones."

Laura licked her dry lips, silently and unabashedly meeting Jen's glare.

"Play the victim all you want, Ms. Gage," Jen hissed, "But all you are is a woman who got played – the _real_ victims are waiting for us to bring that son of a bitch in," she paused, swallowing hard, "And we _will_ bring him in – I promise you that."

"This - !"

"Please don't ever bother me or any of our team again," Jen straightened up, running a hand over her face, "Have a nice evening."

She walked away then – the evening rain misting down upon her.

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The man pressed his cap down harder upon his head as he reached out from under the awning to hold a hand up to the rain, _Cold…_

_He'd be colder still._

The thought ran across his mind and he gave an involuntary shudder as he pulled his coat tighter about his shoulders.

He ran his fingers over the smooth covering of his phone in his pocket. He watched his breath condense before his face as he sighed. Flipping out his phone, he squinted in the dimness as the white light from the screen blazed upon his face. His fingers moved over the familiar keys, _2-1-2-3-4-3-…_

_Ringing… ringing… ringing…_

He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the door of the diner swing open.

_Ringing… ringing… ringing…_

He watched as two more cars pulled into the parking lot.

_Ringing… ringing… ringing…_

The doors of the cars opened, letting out a pair of laughing occupants.

_Click. "Hey, you've reached Laura! Leave me a message! Beeeeep."_

"Laura," he whispered.

The man looked over his shoulder again, self-consciously checking himself at the seeming loudness of his voice in the quiet.

"Laura," he tried again, stronger this time.

A pause. He held his breath. _Had I had anything to say…?_ _Was there anything I _could_ say…?_

"…I'm sorry." _Beep._


	8. Chapter 7: One of Our Own Part 7 & Callo

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 7: One of Our Own Part 7 | Callous Foreplay Part 1**

* * *

Things had quieted down after a week of silence on the whereabouts of Phillip Shawnson. Mac had turned the supervision over to Stella completely, only keeping her and Jen on the Shawnson case.

Silence seemed to be something that the CSIs were getting uncomfortably familiar with on this case.

Lindsay wrapped her scarf around her neck as she made her way towards the lab benches. She looked through the glass, searching for the familiar spike of dirty blonde hair, _Aha._ She maneuvered past one of the lab assistants pushing a cart out and made her way towards Danny who was seriously staring at the screen displaying a chemical structure array.

"Hey, Montana," Danny said absentmindedly, scrolling to the next array.

Lindsay raised an eyebrow, settling in the stool next to his, "How'd you know it was me?"

He turned to her with a cocky grin, "I've got _great_ peripherals."

"Uh-huh," she shoved him in the arm with an amused smile before tossing a finger at the screen, "What are you looking at?"

Danny turned back to the screen, shrugging, "I'm not really sure…"

Lindsay leaned in, looking carefully at the concentrations of sodium, chlorine, and oxygen, "Isn't this just bleach?"

He made a face at her. "I know _that_," he said defensively, "I mean, I'm not sure why it's so important."

"Which case?"

"Weird one that rolled in this morning," he grabbed one of the manila folders and handed it to her, "Body was found in Central Park, stark naked and holding a large bottle of bleach."

"Wow," Lindsay wrinkled her nose, looking at the crime scene photos. It was a Caucasian male of approximately six feet and 400 pounds lying flat on his back in the grass with his arms crossed over his chest, cradling a large white bottle, "COD?"

"Heart attack," Danny snorted, "I have a feeling I know what caused it."

Lindsay blinked, her eyebrow arching, "Well…?"

He crossed his arms, turning his body towards her, "Sid found steak, wine, strawberries, chocolate, and champagne in the man's stomach and a _whole_ lot of _Sildenafil citrate_ in his system." He raised his own eyebrow, prodding her to make her own conclusion.

"Viagra?" Lindsay grinned, "You're telling me that this guy died of a heart attack caused by overexertion in sex?"

Danny waggled his eyebrows, "Kinky, ey?"

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"Damnit!" Adam's frustrated cry caused Stella to stop in her tracks. She raised her brow as she back-tracked and stuck her head in the doorway of the computer room.

"You okay?"

Adam's keyboard clattered out of his hands as he jumped. He hurriedly picked it up as he turned towards Stella, guiltily letting out, "Hi."

Stella came to stand next to him, "What's up?"

"Uh," he typed into his keyboard, staring at the keys, "Err…"

"Adam," she slapped him on the shoulder lightly, causing him to flinch slightly as he looked up, "Better if you just tell me."

"I was trying to triangulate Shawnson's phone," Adam sighed. "He's been sporadically turning it on and off over the past three hours…"

She raised her eyebrows, "Why didn't you come get me?"

He winched, "I-I thought it'd be better… if I actually had something… he calls the number, lets it ring twice, then hangs up and turns off his phone – it's not enough time."

"Who's he calling?"

Adam tapped some keys, bringing up the number and the corresponding records with a headshot of a woman, "His girlfriend."

Stella crossed her arms, approaching the screen as she inspected the phone record. She pointed at the very first one, "That one." She turned to Adam, "It's about 40s long – plenty of time to ring out and reach voicemail."

He winced again as he guiltily ducked his head, "That's the one that happened when we weren't watching – sorry."

Stella shook her head, "Did you get the voicemail?"

"Of course!" he hurriedly brought it up, hitting play.

Stella cocked her head, listening carefully.

"_Laura…_" then a lot of silence, the sound of rain and cars moving at a slow pace, "_Laura… I'm sorry._"

"That's it," Adam removed it from the screen, "That one was last night, 1:18 am. After that, he started calling her today at 3:14 pm – but like I said, he doesn't stay on long enough for us to triangulate his position."

"Well," Stella bit her lip thoughtfully, "It gives us _something_."

Adam raised his eyebrows confusedly, "Really?"

"Yep," she pointed at the screen, "He's called her over 20 times – obviously, he has something to say."

"Ahh," Adam nodded, "That's right," he gave another confused look, "But how does that help us?"

"She hasn't called back has she?"

"No…?"

"Exactly," Stella smiled, "I think he's got something to say and, guessing from his persistence, I think he won't stop until he gets the chance."

"Ohhh," Adam grinned, "So get _Laura_ to call _him_."

"Precisely," Stella patted him on the shoulder on her way out, "I'll be back soon – be ready."

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Hawkes carefully looked at the slight Puerto Rican woman sitting across from him in the interrogation room. She had very distinct features, exotic but not unpleasantly so. A smirk played across her lips as she stared back at him from under her long lashes. She leaned forward, letting her shirt droop even more dangerously.

Hawkes glanced down at the file in his hand before he looked back up at her, "Ms. Mendoza, you work at the Royalton as a member of their housekeeping staff, is that correct?"

"Si." The many silver bands covering her wrist clacked as she placed her hand on the metal surface of the table. "Dring the day," she smiled.

Hawkes cleared his throat and pushed the autopsy photo of the victim across the table, "Do you know this man?"

Jessica Mendoza glanced down briefly at the photo, before flicking her eyes back on Hawkes. "No." She forcefully slid the photo back to his side.

"That's strange," Hawkes went through the folder and pulled out a packet, "We have DNA evidence that proves otherwise." He slid the packet to her, "Foreign female epithelial tissue was found under this man's fingernails and your – "

"I'm an immigrant and a high-school dropout," she smiled sweetly, looking up from the packet, "You're going to have to explain this to me in smaller words."

A flicker of irritation flashed across Hawkes' eyes before he reassumed his pleasant demeanor. Leaning forward, he smiled, "You had sex with Robert Lorty and I have proof."

There was a scuffling noise as she swiftly retracted her hand, her finely manicured nails scratching the surface of the table, "I want a lawyer."

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"Why didn't you tell me?" Stella was slightly irritated, both as a friend and as a boss, _She should have told me…_

Jen patted her on the arm, "I didn't want to bother you – it was nothing." _A slap as sharp as the cold wind, _she winced at the memory.

"She was harassing an officer," Stella frowned, "That's not 'nothing.'"

"She's just human – just as much a victim as the rest," Jen sighed, shrugging. "She's upset and as unforgiveable as her thinking is – it's understandable."

Stella shook her head, "I'll get Flack to bring her in."

Jen smiled apologetically, "Not a good idea…"

Stella looked at her confusedly, "Why?"

"He was there," Jen replied simply.

"Ah." Stella knew how Don could get – she also knew how he could get about Jen. "I guess, I'll take a uni."

Jen scrolled through her phone, "Don't we have some posted at her house?" She glanced up, "Harker and Matthews?"

"That's right," Stella nodded.

"I'll call – have them bring her in," Jen hit the call button. She covered the mouth piece, waving Stella towards the door, "You should tell Mac."

"Right, thanks."

"This is Detective Lee calling dispatch…"

Stella swung the door shut behind her.

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"Did we get them?" Danny asked, meeting Hawkes at the elevator.

Hawkes shook his head, "No, it's not Jessica Mendoza." The two men made their way down the hall together.

"That doesn't make sense – we had this girl's DNA all over this guy," Danny gestured animatedly.

"Which proves that she had sex with him," Hawkes handed Danny the file, "Which she admitted to, but not that she killed him. Sid's autopsy proves the man had sex _and_ that he had a heart attack but _not_ that the two are linked."

Danny looked up from the folder, "So, she _says_ she didn't kill him and you believe her?"

"She says she left him in his room at the Royalton, alive and happy," Hawkes shrugged, "I'm inclined to believe her."

"I'm still liking her for this little deed," Danny crossed his arms. "We found her name on his will for a pretty sum of 50,000 dollars – sound like motive?"

"But the footprints we found at the dump site were of _male_ shoes," Hawkes waved his hand, "Robert Lorty is 418 lbs and 6'2", Jessica Mendoza is 120 lbs and 5'4" – she definitely couldn't have done the dump."

"_Herself_," Danny shrugged, "Maybe Lady Murderess had a nice strong guy friend or two."

"What about the bleach?" Hawkes spread his arms, "We have nothing that connects her to the bleach."

"True, it's industrial grade – not for housecleaning," Danny brought a hand to his chin, before pointing a finger at Hawkes, "_But_ it could just be a sick joke by the girl _or_ her little helpers – wouldn't rule that out."

"I think there's something we're missing here," Hawkes shook his head, "I'm heading to Lorty's penthouse suite."

"Fine," Danny tossed his arms up, "We look for more evidence!"


	9. Chapter 8: One of Our Own Part 8 & Callo

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 8: One of Our Own Part 8 | Callous Foreplay Part 2**

* * *

Flack frowned as he watched two uniforms escort Laura Gage into the conference room. He gritted his teeth, setting his jaw in place – a muscle twitching in his cheek. He wasn't happy about needing that woman's help.

A hand reached out, patting him on the shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," He turned to face Stella, who gave him an unconvinced look. "Really."

She sighed, "I don't like it either but I know we can finally close this case with her help."

"I know," he sighed, massaging his temple. "Mac told me you were looking for me, what's up?"

Stella looked towards the conference room, catching Adam fidgeting in the doorway. He waved a little, giving her a thumbs-up, before popping back into the room. Stella turned back to Flack, patting him on the arm, "We're going to get started, could you and Jen get a team ready?"

"How quickly?"

"As fast as you can manage," Stella headed towards the room, waving a hand over her shoulder, "Keep your phone at hand."

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Hawkes slid the keycard into its slot, swinging the door open when the little light turned green. Danny shined his flashlight into the dark room, reaching for the light switch.

"Looks like he just left to grab something," Danny raised an eyebrow, looking at the room left in a slight disarray. "No signs of a struggle – just… a mess."

The glass coffee table in the common area held leftovers from dinner and the midnight snack. Newspapers were lazily tossed about the couch, along with clothes assumed to belong to Lorty. Wine stains covered the fine white carpeting with an open bottle tossed amongst the fine hairs. Rose petals were strewn about the floor, leading to the double doors on the left – probably the bedroom. The sofa cushions were collected in front of the television on the right, still on, with a woolen blanket – as if the people in the room had gathered in front of the TV for a TV marathon.

Hawkes carefully stepped through the chaos and over the cushions towards the TV. He reached out with a gloved hand to press the "power" button – the TV turned off with a light melody.

He glanced towards Danny who had made his way to the coffee table and was not making faces at the mess there, "Let's get started, I guess."

"I call bedroom," Danny raised a hand, pointing towards the room in question. He lifted his kit and quickly slipped between the two couches towards the doors.

Hawkes looked around at the area left for him to cover, "Right." He clapped his hands, _Great_.

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Stella placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Laura who yawned as she nodded her thanks. Stella glanced at her phone, checking the time. It had been more than an hour since Laura had left the voicemail message. She took a seat at the back end of the table, keeping herself behind Laura's field of vision. Stella stared at the back of her head, taking in the woman's blonde ponytail. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes – Gage had been troublesome to convince. Well… technically, it wasn't really _convincing_ as much as it was putting on a show. _This woman…_Stella frowned tiredly. Laura had come in with the uniforms, protesting and, essentially, _whining_. She kept refusing her cooperation even thought it was very obvious to Stella, and very clear to just about everyone else, that Laura had already decided to help them. The woman was a bother… Stella kept herself in check, repeating in her mind, "I have a badge to protect." though she wasn't _that_ far from losing her temper and slapping this stupid woman. _Thank god she's getting sleepy…_ _That _had drastically reduced the amount of times Laura was letting the biting words leave her mouth.

Adam sat at the front, his eyes scanning the screen before him – keyboard in hand, at the ready. He bit down on a yawn that threatened to escape noisily from his lips. Mac slid into the chair on Stella's right hand side, "How are we doing?"

"Waiting," Stella sighed. She gave him a tired look, jabbing her left hand thumb at Laura, who had begun nodding off. "She's been quite _cooperative_," she said dryly, mouthing in addition, "She's a _nightmare_."

"Yeah," Mac smiled knowingly, "Don told me she's a charmer."

"_Completely_," Stella rolled her eyes.

Then there was the audible noise of the phone clattering against the tabletop as it vibrated.

"Uh," Adam sat up, tapping his knuckles against the table, "Incoming call!"

Stella got to her feet, quickly making her way to the front. She shook Laura awake, "Keep it normal, keep him talking."

Laura gave her head a shake, rubbing her eyes. She wrinkled her nose, snapping, "I _know_."

Stella bit her tongue, handing Laura the phone in response. Laura snatched her phone from Stella's hands, flipping it open, "Phil?"

Mac had come to stand behind Adam. Stella nodded at the tech savvy young man. Adam typed quickly, tracing the call…

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Danny was feeling dirty just from standing in the room.

The ultraviolet light in his hand and the Luminol he had sprayed was showing him all sorts of love and hate all over the room. It was a forensic nightmare.

He got to swabbing and when he had picked up all of the samples, collecting a nice set of sealed manila packets, he then took up the flashlight, beginning his in-depth scan of the room itself.

"How're you doing?" Hawkes called from outside.

Danny wrinkled his nose, dropping to his knees. "Just fine," he called back. He placed a hand in the soft carpet, using the other to lift the bed skirt. He gave a little grunt as he shifted to flip the flashlight under the bed.

It was clear, just boring old carpeting.

Then he noticed something sticking out from the floor. _Oho_, he squinted, trying to make out what it was – no luck. He grimaced, pressing his face into the carpeting as he reached for the shape he had just spotted. He smiled, feeling his fingers touch the object. Pulling it out, he straightened up.

It was a small button of some type. Danny held up the smooth circle up to the light, flipping it over a few times – a lapel pin. He cocked his head, giving a confused look to the strange black and white symbol on the head.

He reached out with his free hand, grabbing an empty packet. Dropping the pin in, he sealed the envelope with one swift motion.

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Jen readjusted the bottom strap of the bulletproof vest, pulling the piece of clothing down firmly about her shoulders. She kept her eyes on the road in front of them that swept quickly under their vehicle as they sped down the street. She grabbed the dashboard as Don made a quick turn onto Erasmus Street. He switched off the police lights, making his way up the street quickly.

It had been about half an hour since Adam had made the trace and Stella had called Don and Jen. Laura had kept Shawnson on the phone for a good 15 minutes afterwards as well – there was still a good chance, an almost completely certain chance, that Shawnson was still at that location. Don had contacted Brooklyn PD which had dispatched a few squad cars from the 67th precinct to surround the area the house was located in from a distance – they didn't want to spook Shawnson. Jen pointed at the yellow building on the street as Don parked the car in the driveway of the house two doors down. They rapidly jumped out of the car, drawing their guns as they made their way up the sidewalk. Don barked an order into his walkie-talkie, bringing a pair of squad cars flying up the street.

Four officers joined them on the sidewalk in front of the house. Don motioned two of them towards the back of the house; they nodded and ran around to the other side. Jen quickly ran up the stairs and leaned against one side of the door leaving the other side for Don who followed speedily behind. She nodded at him before yelling out, "NYPD!"

Don kicked the door in, letting Jen and the other two officers in before going in himself. Jen ran up the stairs to the net floor as the officers split two ways on the first. Don paused, quickly glancing around the home.

"FREEZE!"

Don's focus snapped to the stairs as he heard Jen's bellow drift down them before a shuffling of feet on the floor above his head. He leapt for the stairs, taking them two or three at a time.

Shawnson paid no attention to Jen pointing her gun at him and threw himself to one side as he tried to make his way to the window. He landed hard upon the hardwood flooring, rolling over onto his stomach. He scrambled, grabbing for the ledge to pull himself up. Jen ran at him, jumping forward and bring down her fisted gun onto Shawnson's back. He snarled as he grabbed at her arm – reaching for her wrist, his outstretched fingers clawing at her sleeves. He wriggled onto his back, trying to kick her off of him. She winced, holding on tightly as she pulled them both to their feet. He fought against her hold, pushing forcefully with his arms against her shove. She brought her knee up sharply, kneeing him in the abdomen. He grunted leaning backwards and barely keeping his footing. He glanced around for something to use as a weapon – his eyes landed on the floor lamp which he grabbed, ripping the cord out of the wall.

Jen brought both hands to her gun again, pointing it directly at him, "Don't even think about it!"

He spat a wad of saliva to the side, smiling a little, "You won't shoot."

"Don't try me," Jen hissed. She motioned with the gun, "Drop the lamp – put your hands up!"

He shrugged, testing the weight of the object in his hands, "If I don't?"

"_I'll_ shoot!" Don snapped, entering the room and approaching Shawnson with his gun pointed straight at him.

"Damnit," Shawnson sighed, flipping his hair out of his eyes, "Tag-teamed by the couple."

Don shot a glance at Jen who quickly shook her head, motioning with her chin for him to keep his eyes on Shawnson. Don snapped his eyes back on Shawnson, barking, "Drop the lamp and put your hands up!"

"Fine, fine," Shawnson wrinkled his nose, tossing aside the lamp and steadily reaching upwards.

As Jen reached for her handcuffs and Don stepped towards him, Shawnson took that moment to lean to the side – launching himself at the window.

"Damnit!" Don pulled the trigger then. Shawnson gave a yell as he hit the ground, clutching his shoulder.

Don kept his gun pointed at the suspect as he came to stand next to Shawnson's body. At the same time, Jen holstered her gun and ran at Shawnson, sliding next to him and bringing her arms down hard upon his back. Shawnson let out a hoarse cry of pain as she forcefully brought his arms behind his back. "You should've just done as you were told," she spat.

"What's the fun in that?" Shawnson let out through gritted teeth, giving her a pained grin over his uninjured shoulder.

Jen shook her head disgustedly, motioning over the uniforms that had come up as she scooted back from SHawnson, "Take this bastard away."

Don put the gun back on his belt as he gently grabbed Jen by the elbow, helping her to her feet.


	10. Chapter 9: Callous Foreplay Part 3 & One

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 9: Callous Foreplay Part 3 | One of Our Own Part 9**

* * *

Lindsay pulled up in the runner's lane on Terrace Drive, noticing the crowd that had gathered at the edges of the crime scene. She shook her head, grabbing her kit, as she got out of her car, _Vultures…_She ducked under the police tape, stepping onto the asphalt pathway.

"Hey, little lady – where do you think you're going?" one of the officers waved a pointed hand at Lindsay, approaching her.

She sighed, pulling back her jacket to flash the badge on her belt, "Detective Lindsay Monroe, CSI."

"Sorry," he nodded his apology, leading the way to the body, "Officer James Kissinger, Central Park precinct."

The victim was a middle-aged, probably in his mid-40s, male Caucasian. He was lying on his stomach, his face pressed into the dirt and the rest of his body splayed on the asphalt – completely naked.

She set her kit down on the asphalt, giving the body a quick look over. "Do we have an ID?"

"Nope, body was found about an hour ago – as is, no ID."

"Who discovered the body?"

Officer Kissinger pulled out his notepad, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at three girls who were talking to another officer, "A couple runners, students at Marymount Manhattan College – dance majors."

Lindsay crouched down next to the dead man, "Did any of them touch the body?"

Kissinger glanced down at his notepad, "One of them, Molly Sanders – the blonde."

Lindsay looked over at the girls again, noticing the one blonde girl who looked the most disturbed.

"Says she checked for a pulse," Kissinger shrugged. "Other than that, they didn't touch him."

"I'm going to need to talk to the girls after your guy's done with them," Lindsay nodded.

"You got it," Kissinger tipped his hat before heading off towards the girls.

Lindsay unclasped her case, pulling out her gloves from her jacket pockets.

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Hawkes had managed to get a series of partial boot prints off of the white fox carpet – size 9 men's Palladium Pampa Tactical boots. It wouldn't have been so easy to lift them if it weren't for a gooey substance the prints had left behind. That and stray sediments had drawn him to the area, producing the sample he was now inspecting under the microscope lens.

It had been easy to identify the sediment as soil homogenous to that found in the banks of The Lake in Central Park but not so much the "goody" substance – Hawkes was still waiting on the chemical analysis results. He brought a hand to his chin as he looked at the map he had brought up. The victim had been found in the North Meadow, a good two, three miles from The Lake – about 30 minutes walking distance. How did that connect? It told them that both the victim and the dumper had been in Central Park at some point – the dumper had been there twice even – but was that even relevant…?

Hawkes looked up as he saw someone approach in his peripheral vision. One of the lab assistants handed him a folder, saying, "Here's the report you asked for."

Hawkes smiled his gratitude, taking it, "Thanks, Joe." He quickly turned to the desk, placing the file open on top of it. _Propylene glycol, sorbitol, Natrosol 250H, polysorbate 60, benzoic acid, methylparaben,… K-Y Jelly?_ Hawkes gave a small laugh as he shook his head, _Sex lubricant…_

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Mac let out a frustrated sigh as he entered the viewing room of the interrogation room. Stella, Flack, and Jen greeted him with nods.

"You okay?" Stella raised an eyebrow. Mac waved her off, bringing a hand to his brow – the 30 minutes with Shawnson had been tiring.

"Let me go in," Jen crossed her arms, "He says he'll talk to me."

"You – and Stella – are too involved," Mac shook his head, "I don't feel comfortable with that."

"He only had my picture," Jen waved her hand dismissively, "I can talk to him."

"You were a _target_," Mac said firmly, "That means you're involved."

"He says he'll give a full confession if I interrogate him," Jen gestured at the window, "We can't just pass that up."

Flack shrugged, "She has a point, Mac."

"Mac, she's right," Stella bit her lip, shrugging, "We can only permanently connect Shawnson to _Sarah Lucas_'s murder."

Jen slapped a fist to her open hand, "We can't convict him of _all _the murders without any physical evidence linking him to them – the badges on his wall aren't going to be enough." She sighed angrily, pointing at Shawnson through the glass, "I want him to _rot_ in jail for the rest of his life – I am _not _willing to let there be a chance that he might get a lighter sentence than he deserves because his lawyer will slime through some loophole to get him convicted only for _conspiracy_ to murder the other women." Jen's eyes flashed as she turned them on Mac, "Flack and Stell agree with me – and you _know_ I'm right."

Mac gave a small smile, shaking his head, "You're a force, Jen."

"Something you liked about me, as I recall," Jen grinned.

"Right, doesn't mean that it doesn't become a pain in my neck sometimes," he replied back wryly. He glanced briefly over at Stella, "Not unlike the other women in my life…"

Stella raised a brow, crossing her arms defensively.

He ignored her, handing the files to Jen, "Be careful."

"Psh," Jen quickly snatched the folder and headed for the door, "When am I not careful?"

Flack shook his head, giving an exasperated look to Mac and Stella before following Jen. "Is that a serious question?" he called after her.

"I love you too, Don," Jen tossed dryly over her shoulder.

Mac and Stella shared meaningful smiles as they turned their focus to the window.

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Sid looked up from the body he was processing, peering over his glasses at Lindsay who had entered the autopsy room, "Do I have _you_ to thank for the lack of clothing?" He straightened up, pulling apart his glasses with a grin, "Makes my job easier!"

Lindsay laughed, "I'm afraid not." She came to stand across from him, "So, I heard my body was ready?"

"Ah yes," he held up a finger as he moved to the next examining table, "I was able to run his prints through AFIS and was able to give a name to your John Doe." He handed her the folder, leaning on the edge of the table, "Henry Perkinson of Perkinson's and Sons – I think my wife's sister is a client of that law firm…"

"A lawyer?" Lindsay raised her eyebrows, glancing down at the records, "What in the world is a lawyer doing naked in Central Park…?"

"No idea," Sid wrinkled his nose, putting his glasses back on, "That's _your_ job."

"Ah," Lindsay smiled, shaking her head slightly, "How could I forget…"

"What I _can_ tell you is _how _he died." He waved her over, pointing out the striation marks across the victim's neck, "Asphyxiation, most likely the victim was strangled with a belt or thick rope of some sort."

Lindsay straightened up, crossing her arms, "Come on, Sid – you're holding out on me aren't you?"

Sid grinned, raising an eyebrow, "Now why would I do that?"

"Surprise me."

He moved to the cart next to the table, handing her a petri dish containing a white powder, "Found this in his hair – some kind of white powder."

Lindsay held the petri dish up to the light, looking at how the particles shifted. She lowered her arm glancing back at Sid, "Anything else?"

"Your lawyer died quite satisfied," Sid shrugged, "Found traces of sexual activity – he had sex shortly prior to his death. Ah," he reached for another petri dish to hand to her, "And this."

Lindsay took it, "Hair – judging by the length, female." She looked off to the side, bringing her free hand to her chin, "Huh…"

Sid tilted his head, "What are you thinking?"

"Kinky," Lindsay turned her attention to Sid with an incredulous laugh.

"I'm sorry?" Sid laughed.

"Erotic asphyxiation," Lindsay stated, "That's what I'm thinking."

"Sex gone bad," Sid frowned, shaking his head, "That's terrible." Then he suddenly beamed at Lindsay, "But exactly what I was thinking."

Lindsay leaned over the body to give him a shove, chuckling.

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Flack crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to the mirror, as he eyed Shawnson. Jen leaned back in her chair, legs crossed with her hands laid lightly upon her knees. She stared at Shawnson who stared back unabashedly. A small smile stayed on Shawnson's lips as he continued to look Jen over. The corners of Jen's lips turned down slightly as she bit down on her molars – this scrutiny wasn't making her feel uncomfortable as much as it was making her angry. Flack really wanted to hurt this kid – he glared at Shawnson who glanced his way once with a smirk. _The way he's looking at her… _Flack frowned, _It's like he's _imagining _things…_

"Well?" Jen leaned forward. "Here I am. Where's that confession?"

Shawnson leaned forward himself, folding his hands in front of him on the table. He glanced at Flack, who was giving him a dangerous glower, then with an agreeable smile he turned his gaze back upon Jen, "34C?"

Jen raise an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?" _Is he serious…_

"Your bra size," Shawnson explained, as if reiterating a point of a pleasant conversation.

Flack stepped off the wall, "Why you little freak." He approached the table, slamming his open hand on the surface. "Why don't you just keep it in your pants and just say what you're planning to say?" he snapped.

Shawnson didn't even flinch as he looked up to meet Flack's eyes. "The lovely detective didn't ask," he smiled pityingly, "Or were you not paying attention?"

Flack bit his tongue, straightening up, _Resist the urge to slap this…_ He crossed hi arms, giving Jen a look as he stepped back.

Jen shrugged slightly in response to Don before she smiled back pleasantly at Shawnson, "_36_C, actually…" She ran a hand through her hair, tilting her head to one side, "And I'm sorry, you're right – I should've asked." She mirrored his stance, folding her hands in front of her, "May I please have that confession now?"

"Why, thank you for asking!" Shawnson grinned widely, showing his perfectly white teeth. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, "I have a confession to make, detective."

"Please share," Jen replied back humorlessly. "I'm _all_ ears."

Flack walked back to his position against the wall, keeping his eyes fixed on Shawnson who was looking down.

"I've killed people."

"Is that so?" Jen kept her impatience in check, biting down on her cutting words, "Please elaborate."

"How so?" Shawnson looked up innocently, the sly look in his eyes giving him away – he was playing with them.

Jen didn't budge, holding her position and staring him down, "Whatever details you are able to provide would be very helpful."

Shawnson made a move to stand up, "Would – "

" – sit your ass down," Flack cut him off with a bark.

Shawnson smiled contritely, nodding his apology. He sat back down, focusing on Jen, "Would you like to know how I did it? How much time I put into thinking about it? Or maybe – "

"How about names for starters," Jen replied back brusquely.

"Oh, that's easy," Shawnson waved his hand, "But not nearly as interesting, I'm sure."

"Nevertheless," Jen unfolded her hands, getting to her feet, "Let's start there." She went to his side, sitting down on the edge of the table.

"Alright," he stared up at her, his electric blue eyes peering into her dark brown ones, "Ready?"

"Absolutely."

"Let's see if I remember," Shawnson paused for a moment, "Ah, yes."

It was obvious that he remembered vividly.

"Don't waste my time, Phillip." Jen tapped her finger on the table twice. "The names, please."

Shawnson shrugged as if to say, "Fine." He kept his gaze on Jen as he listed the names, "Laura Conrad, Christina Gallahager, Jennifer Patrickson, Sierra Jimenez, Diedre Jacobs, Lauren Gillian, Margaret Fitchinson, Sarah Lucas," he held out his hands, widely spreading them open before him, "I killed them."

Jen stood up, returning to her side of the table. "Thank you for your cooperation." She collected the files, straightening them with a careful series of taps.

Flack went to the door, waving over the waiting uniforms. Jen walked to the door, folders in hand.

"I wasn't done."

Jen turned back around to meet Shawnson who had gotten to his feet, "Was there something else?"

"Yeah," he smiled, giving her a shy, boyish nod.

Jen glanced at Flack before she looked back towards Shawnson, "Well?"

He grinned, "Jennifer Lee."

She raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"One more name," he stated matte-of-factly. Jen's breath caught for a second, _What…_

_This bastard – _"What are you trying to say, kid?" Flack said angrily.

Shawnson gave him the same pitying look again, "I'm not _trying_ to say anything."

Jen looked him up and down, extending her free arm out. "Huh," she glanced at her hand, fisting her fingers, "That's strange – I feel oddly alive." She shrugged, "Want to try again?"

Shawnson gave a little nod, "My apologies, I haven't killed her – you."

"Take him away," Flack said disgustedly as he waved the uniforms over. He herded Jen through the door, wanting to get her out of that room as quickly as possible.

"Yet."

Flack glanced over his shoulder at Shawnson who gave him a knowing smile, saluting. Flack turned away, a sick feeling in his stomach. Jen looked back at Flack who met her eyes. He reached for her hand, squeezing it firmly. She gripped his hand tightly back, her throat tightening and the unsettling feeling spreading throughout her body.


	11. Chapter 10: Callous Foreplay Part 4 & On

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 10: Callous Foreplay Part 4 | One of Our Own Part 10**

* * *

Jen grabbed her labcoat, coming to stand next to Lindsay, "Hey."

Lindsay looked up from a bag she was processing. She smiled, "Hey!" She picked up the case file, waving it, "You come to help?"

"If you'll have me," Jen grinned, straightening her coat and tying back her hair. "So," she glanced around at the stuff strewn about the table, "Is this what you brought back from the vic's house?"

"How'd you know?"

"I heard you had a naked vic too," Jen shrugged, pulling on a pair of gloves before picking up a manila packet. "Figured you didn't pick up any belongings with the body."

Lindsay laughed, "You checked out the Lorty case?"

"Yeah," Jen shook her head, "Danny and Hawkes shooed me off." She wrinkled her nose, "Something about how I should be at home…"

"Well," Lindsay started, giving her a look. It hadn't taken long for the word of what happened in the interrogation room to spread around the office.

Jen cut her off, "Don't you dare." She wagged a finger warningly, "You're stuck with me."

Lindsay shrugged, turning her focus back to the bag, "As long as Flack doesn't blame _me _for you not going home."

"I'll claim all responsibility," Jen grinned, putting a hand to her chest.

"Yeah, yeah," Lindsay glanced up with an amused smile, "Get to work!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Jen saluted.

She then took the envelope in her hand, breaking the seal. She poured the contents of the packet, catching the object in her hand. She pulled the magnifying glass over, leaning over the lit object to inspect it. She flipped it over once, noticing the butterfly clip – it was a circular lapel pin. Turning it back over, she carefully looked at the symbol on the rounded cover. _I've seen this before…_

"Lindsay," she looked up.

The other woman straightened up, "Yeah?"

"I think you and Danny have got more than naked bodies in common," Jen held the pin up between two fingers, "We've got ourselves a connection."

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"_What did you mean?" Stella asked, handing her the steaming cup of coffee._

"_Hmm?" Laura peered at her over the edge of the cup she was now sipping._

"_That I had helped you," Stella sat down, gesturing for her to take the other seat, "What did you mean?"_

"_Oh," Laura smiled, sitting down. She set the cup on the table, looking down at the hands she now clasped in her lap. Stella watched carefully, noticing the young woman swallow hard and take a deep breath. Laura looked up, her hazel eyes softening with unshed tears. She bit her lip, smiling sadly, "Three years ago, I had just turned 16 – my parents were killed during a carjacking."_

_Stella sat up, reaching across the table to lay a hand softly on Laura's hand. She said gently, "Upper East Side, in front of the Lennox Hill Hospital."_

"_You remember," she nodded, keeping up her shaky smile, "The police closed the case – ruling it an accident." She gave an incredulous laugh, "An _accident_."_

"_They recovered the car a few hours later, no culprits," Stella gave her hand a squeeze, "I remember."_

"_I didn't know what to do – I felt so lost," Laura whispered. She cleared her throat, looking up at Stella with a smile, "But there was an officer who thought there was more to the crime – who sat me down and promised me that she'd get the people who did this to my parents, to me."_

"_One who got in trouble for being too hot-headed," Stella grinned._

"_Really?" Laura laughed, a few tears escaping from her eyes. She swept them off her cheeks, continuing, "That detective – you – kept that promise."_

"_I did my best," Stella smiled understandingly. She teased, "It was worth getting hours of traffic duty."_

_Laura laughed, bringing up a napkin to dab at her eyes. She sighed, going on seriously, "I never thanked you."_

"_You didn't have to," Stella replied simply._

"_But I _wanted_ to," Laura shook her head, "I wanted you to know, Detective Bonasera – I'm entering the police academy soon. I'll work hard to get my badge – and to get a chance to work with you."_

_Stella smiled widely, "I'll look forward to it."_

Stella ran a hand over Laura Conrad's picture, sighing at the exuberance lighting up the now familiar hazel eyes in the shot. She shut the folder, adding it to the box with the others.

_So young…_

Closing the box, Stella picked it up and turned. "Need some help?" Mac greeted her, a small smile crinkling his gaze.

She smiled back and shook her head, "I got it." He held the door open for her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, he replied, turning to head up to his office.

Stella stopped in her steps, turning to look at him. She shrugged, calling out, "Mac."

"Yeah?" he stopped, glancing back at her.

She grinned, "Help me out by buying me a drink?"

He laughed slightly, nodding his head, "Sure – I'll meet you out front."

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Adam brought up the photo of the pin Danny had found in Robert Lorty's hotel suite, "This is Robert Lorty's pin," he then pulled up the photo of the pin Lindsay had recovered right next to the first photo, "This is the pin belonging to Henry Perkinson," Adam turned to them gesturing at the two photos, "As you can see, they both have the same design."

"Tell us something we don't know, Adam," Danny crossed his arms.

Jen shoved him, shaking her head, "Be patient, you intolerant man."

Adam grinned at the dismayed look Danny gave Jen. Jen winked, waving him on. "Well, I ran the design through the system and was able to connect it to a high-end wine tasting club," Adam continued, pulling up photos of the current members of said club toasting with cups of wine.

"'Wine tasting club?'" Lindsay raised an eyebrow, turning to Jen who was laughing slightly.

"Must be a rich people thing," Jen shrugged.

"It is indeed," Hawkes said approaching the screen. He pointed at a man standing to the far right, "See him?" He turned back towards them, "That's Howard Bentley, the son of one of the richest families in New York."

"Okay – great – rich people," Danny waved his hand, "You've got to give me something else, Adam."

"I was getting to it," Adam said defensively, "Well, this wine tasting club isn't _really_ a wine tasting club."

"They never are, are they…" Jen frowned dryly, "So what is this sophisticated club a front for?"

"Err," Adam gave them all an edgy look.

"Well…?" Danny poked expectantly.

"It's…" Adam cleared his throat before continuing on embarrassedly, "It's a… sexual… fetish… club…"

"…lovely," Lindsay cleared her own throat, glancing at Danny who gave an entertained chuckle.

Hawkes smiled, amused, as he clapped a hand on Adam's back, "No need to be so awkward."

"You all are so calm about this," Adam trailed off.

"Oh come on," Jen spread her hands wide, "If there's one thing we've learned in this job, it's that we should never be surprised. Plus," she tossed her hair to one side as she gave a shrug, "This is New York – there're _all _types here."

"Still…" Adam still had that mortified expression on his face.

"So what do these people actually do?" Danny asked innocently, putting a hand to his chin.

"Danny - !" Lindsay coughed, glaring. Adam fidgeted.

"Oh, leave poor Adam alone, you meanie," Jen slapped Danny's shoulder, grinning. "Just read the file yourself!"

"Aw, where's the fun in that?" Danny smirked.

Hawkes shook his head as he took the USB Adam held out. He smiled, "Thanks, Adam."

"No problem," Adam put a hand to his neck, rubbing it self-consciously.

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Laura sat on one side of the glass, fidgeting on the uncomfortable chair.

Phillip sat on the other side, head bowed over clasped hands.

They had sat that way for the last couple minutes, not saying a word.

Laura didn't know what drove her to come down – well… that wasn't completely true. She knew she was drawn to Phillip, the two of them connected by an undeniable attraction that was more than just passion. As much as she wanted to hate him, just as much as the rest of the world, it seemed, did, she couldn't – she wouldn't. she hated _him_, his very soul, enough to _love _him as a person. Was it a necessity? – Was it pity?

_Did that make her just as crazy as him?_

Phillip suddenly raised his head, meeting her eyes – the coldness in his blue ones, softening with the firm focus he gave her. "I love you, Laura," he said plainly.

She sighed, glancing down at her hands, "I know…"

"You love me," he continued, matter-of-fact.

"I don't know if I should," she shrugged, meeting his gaze again.

He gave a half-grin, "But you do, silly."

She had to laugh, shaking her head as she straightened up. She leaned forward, placing her arms on the little ledge. Her tone serious, she looked at him carefully, "So what should I do?"

"Love me," he replied simply.

Laura heard the words Phillip left unsaid: _Help me. Wait for me._

And it was clear – she would.

IT didn't matter that Phillip had the mentality, the strength, to kill – to hurt people. _Why? _Because it wasn't Laura he hoped to kill. Laura knew that he loved her and that was enough for her to admit that she loved him. _Why?_ Because their "love" was one of the few things she was ever certain of. _Why? _Because nothing else really mattered.

People died every day – did it matter that her man had helped a few go on their way?


	12. Chapter 11: Callous Foreplay Part 5

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 11: Callous Foreplay Part 5**

* * *

Jess approached the desk, looking around at the lavish furnishings. She shook her head, giving a little whistle. Lindsay laughed disbelievingly at the surroundings – she didn't know how expensive everything was but she knew she was completely afraid to ask.

"Welcome to _The Pearl_," the concierge behind the desk said with a benevolent smile, "Do you have reservations?"

Jess flashed a smile, waving her badge, "We're walk-ins."

"Ah," the portly man let out, his smile faltering for a second before he continued with his agreeable expression, "How can I help you today, officers?"

Lindsay stepped forward, pushing photos of the two vics across the countertop, "Have you ever seen these men before?"

He took them in hand, looking carefully. He handed the one on top back, "This is Mr. Robert Lorty and," he looked at the second photo before handing it back, "This is Mr. Henry Perkinson – they're very important customers at this establishment. Has something happened?"

Jess straightened up. "I'm afraid so," she pursed her lips in an apologetic grimace, "They're dead."

The man's mouth formed a little "o" as he brought a hand to his cheek, widening his eyes. "Oh dear," he gasped, "is that so? How awful!"

Jess briefly glanced at Lindsay with raised eyebrows at the man's antics. Lindsay gave a slight shrug before tapping her fingers on the counter, "We're going to have to talk to the owner of this establishment."

"But of course!" the man nodded furiously, coming out from behind the counter, "Right away – this way."

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Jen sighed, shifting in the bathtub. She raised a dripping hand out of the water, flicking at a mound of suds near her thigh – they teetered dangerously in the air for a brief moment before settling back into the tub. She gave another sigh, shaking the soapy liquid from her hands and using them to cover her face. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth from the water emanating from her hands as they pressed into her skin. She took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the cucumber-melon bubble bath. She had thought the bath would help to clear her head, help her to relax… but maybe it would have been better if she had just taken a quick shower. Sitting in the bath for the past half hour hadn't helped anything – the knot in her stomach twisted and there was an unexplainable emotion that continued to radiate throughout her body…

Shawnson hadn't been her first thread. She'd been a member of the New York crime lab as long as Danny, having been hired in the same month as him, and had had her fair share of threats in this city. Danger wasn't something she was unfamiliar with – she had grown up in the slums of Washington, D.C. and acquired her badge, and her first job, in that city. Anyone who knew her could attest to her fearlessness and confidence in the field – some would even call her wild, even reckless at times, due to her headstrong determination in her work: determination that put _her _safety _behind _that of everyone else's. so what was it about this time that left her feeling so… _scared_?

That was right – Jen was scared. She opened her eyes, running her hands down her face to her lips – tasting the bathwater slipping between her closed lips. It was just the way he had looked at her – so calm, so unassuming. It was like he knew… something – something she didn't know. _That look..._ That look made her imagine _her_ photo in some case file – _her_ face captured in a smile, peering up at Stella or Mac… or Don.

Don. He was a reason, perhaps _the_ reason, for her to be scared. If Shawnson could get to her, then the people around her would be no trouble…

Jen was scared – not for herself, no. She was scared for the people she dared to grow attached to. _Love_, she sighed, _It should be as much a crime as any…_

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Lindsay carefully looked at the 30 some odd year old man standing before them, a wine glass held lightly in his hand. He smiled charmingly as he swept his free hand through his wavy brown hair, "I'm afraid I don't know anything about this."

Lindsay sighed, pulling out the files, "We have proof, Mr. Morgan." She pinched her lips to one side, shrugging, "I find it kind of hard to believe that you, the owner of this place, would have no idea about what's going on _behind_ the wine kegs."

Peter Morgan's smile turned upside down as he rifled through the folder which included many photos of himself in the mix. He cleared his throat, glancing up at the couple browsing through the wines in the far corner of the room. He snapped the file shut, lowering his tone, "Perhaps, it would be better to relocate to my office."

It was Jess's turn to turn on the charm. She pulled the folder form his grip, giving him a tight smile, "I think you should just answer Detective Monroe's questions."

His eyes flashed dangerously at Jess before he turned them to the ground. He looked up, pressing his lips into a fine line, "Would you mind repeating your questions?"

Lindsay smiled pleasantly, "Would you mind handing over the records for your VIP club?"

"No," he said sullenly, "Not at all." He placed the wine glass on the counter, shooting them a dirty look before he headed towards his office.

"Thank you," Lindsay gave a nod, glancing over at Jess who gave her a grin.

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Flack tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa on his left, loosening his tie with his other hand. He glanced around at the darkened house, _She's probably asleep…_ Dropping his keys into the bowl on the stand, he unclipped his gun from his belt. It was then the heard it – singing from the floor above. He smiled, making his way up the stairs. He noticed the light spilling out onto the landing from the cracked door in the middle, the bathroom. He gently pushed the doorknob, swinging the door open.

_미칠__듯__사랑했던__기억이_| michil deut saranghaetdeon gieokee

_추억들이__너를__찾고__있지만_| chueokdeulee neoleul chatgo eetjiman

_더이상__사랑이란__변명에_| deoeesang sarangeeran byunmyungae

_너를__가둘__순__없어_| neoleul gadool soon ubseo

_이러면__안되지만_| eeleomyun andwaejiman

_죽을만큼__보고싶다__…_ | jookeulmankeum bogoshipda

Jen was lying in the tub, surrounded by suds, with her laid back and her eyes closed. She was singing along to some Korean song, her husky sweet tone playing in harmony with that of the male artist's. Flack didn't really care that he couldn't understand the words – Jen had no trouble conveying the meaning to him through her tired, weary, pained tones. He leaned on the doorframe, an involuntary smile brightening his features as he watched her.

Flack knocked the door against the wall slightly as he straightened up. The disturbance knocked the towel off its hook onto the floor. As he swept it up, he met eyes with Jen who had lifted her head, opening her eyes.

She smiled, blushing slightly, "What're you doing here?" She reached for the remote, hitting pause – the music silenced, the bathroom rang with the sound of water sloshing and their speech.

"Got off work early," he came to her, sitting on the edge of the tub, "Figured I'd stop by."

She flicked some suds at him, "Is that even possible?"

"Hey," he grinned, shielding himself, "Even us detectives can have slow days."

"In New York?"

"Even in New York," he rolled up his sleeves, reaching for hand peeking through the cloudy water and bubbles.

She sat up carefully, taking his hand. "I'm glad." She lightly kissed his fingers, looking up at him.

"So," he tapped her on the nose with his free hand, "Going to tell me what you were just listening to?"

"_보고싶다__[bogoshipda] by __김범수_[Kim Bum Soo], it means – "

" – 'I miss you,'" Flack cut her off with a grin.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling, "Impressive."

"And you thought I was a lost cause," he shrugged.

"Psh," she splashed him with some water.

"Hey – " he jumped to his feet, distancing himself a bit but not letting go of her hand.

"That was easy," she stuck her tongue at him, tugging him back. "You have no idea what the rest's about."

"Why do you think I asked you what you were listening to?" he retorted, shaking his head. She slightly waved a dripping hand warningly. He grinned raising his hand in surrender, "So you going to tell me or not?"

"Literal translation or…?"

"Literal," he laughed, "Let me savor every dramatic detail."

She shook her head, giving a chuckle. She pushed her hair behind her ear as she started, "Even though… the memories, the recollections of having loved you crazily are searching for you…" She paused for a moment, whisper-singing the next line to remind herself, "I can't lock you up any longer on the – using the – excuse of love… even though I know I shouldn't be like this… I miss you like I'll die," she shrugged, simplifying, "I miss you so much."

"So depressing," Flack remarked, "Are _all_ Korean songs, depressingly sad love songs?"

"No!" she smiled, her tone slightly defensive, "Is it my fault that you ask me to translate the depressing ones?"

"Hmm," he cocked his head, giving her a pointed look. "Why are you listening to it? Some guy you missing?" he teased.

"I like the song!" she wrinkled her nose, "You should've gone home if you're just here to make fun of me…"

"Psh," he imitated, landing a kiss on her forehead.

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"We ran the hair through CODIS and got a hit on a Nancy Minerva Morgan," Hawkes waved the file at Danny sitting at the desk, going through a digital copy of the records Lindsay had acquired for them.

Danny wrinkled his nose, raising an eyebrow, "'Minerva?'"

"It's a good name," Hawkes shrugged, "What – don't like it?"

"No," Danny shook his head, "Just… I don't think I've ever _met_ a Minerva."

"Well, technically she's a Nancy," Hawkes grinned.

"Yeah, yeah," Danny made a face, "'Morgan.'" He gestured at the screen, "Any relation to the Peter Morgan who so graciously gave his cooperation?"

"His wife – Lindsay and Jess are heading over to have a chat with her," Hawkes nodded, crossing his arms. "So, how are we doing here?"

"Well," Danny turned his focus back to the computer, "Both Robert Lorty and Henry Perkinson are listed as interested in asphyxiophilia – hypoxyphilia – so I figured it'd be a good idea to start with other members interested in erotic asphyxiation." Danny clicked, bringing up a few headshots, "I separated the freaks by fetish and got four other people in the club who had the same interest."

Hawkes looked at the pictures carefully, leaning over Danny to point at one, "Enlarge this one?"

Danny double-clicked, bringing up the profile of Shoshanna Johnson, a 22 year old blonde woman, "What, is today the day for interesting names…?"

Hawkes tapped the screen, turning to Danny, "I doubt it's her real name – this is Molly Sanders, one of the girls who discovered Henry Perkinson's body. I remember seeing her picture in the elimination DNA file we have for her."

"The dancer?"

"Yeah," Hawkes straightened up, "How does a college student like her have enough money to be a member of that club?"

"Parents?" Danny shrugged, resting his chin on his hand, "She wouldn't be the first spoiled rich kid we've run across…"

Hawkes shook his head, "I don't think so – we checked Sanders's background during our preliminary elimination. Her mother is a nurse at Mount Sinai Hospital and her father died in a construction accident about a year ago."

"Well," Danny stood up, clapping his hands, "Why don't we just ask?"

* * *

*_보고싶다_ [bogoshipda] is a 2002 song from 김범수's [Kim Bum Soo] 3rd album. The lyrics used are from the chorus of this song. Official MV: /watch?v=uL770ptjEq4 The song was made popular by its use in the OST of a 2003 Korean Drama, 천국의 계단 [cheongukae gyaedan] (Heaven's Staircase).


	13. Chapter 12: Oh My Hero Part 1 & Callous

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 12: Oh My Hero Part 1 | Callous Foreplay Part 6**

* * *

Jen settled on her haunches, lowering her camera as she focused on the area where a body had been laying earlier. A young woman in her early 20s had been discovered on the Brooklyn Bridge, leaned against the railing with a gun in her hand – a fatal gunshot wound in her temple. After the initial processing, the body had been removed and Stella and Jen had taken to an in-depth combing of the area. Stella was now tackling the walkway a ways down from where the body was found – the runners who had found the victim claimed to have seen someone running away from the scene, making the whole length of the bridge a possible location for evidence recovery. Thought it seemed unlikely they would find anything since the bridge was the secondary crime scene – there was no evidence of blood spatter in the area, nor evidence of clean up, making it impossible for the bridge to be the primary crime scene – they, of course, had to take the necessary steps. Stella and Jen were looking for any hints as to who had been with the woman while they waited for Sid's autopsy to identify the nameless victim, hoping it would lead them to the primary crime scene.

"We seem to keep running into each other, Detective Lee."

Jen gave an inward sigh as she closed her eyes for a brief moment – she had hoped she wouldn't have to deal with young Officer Harley of the 84th precinct. The energetic young officer had somewhat of a crush on Jen and he made it a point to ask – attempt to ask – her out every time they ran across each other. Unfortunately, this was the second time that they had in the past two weeks. She tossed a smile over her shoulder, before turning her focus back to the railing, "Hi, Pat."

"So," he started, crossing his arms and settling into his position, "I was wondering – "

"Pat," she cut him off with an exasperated sigh, giving him a look as she stood up and moved back slightly, "We've been over this – "

"Just a drink," he grinned, relaxing his arms into a shrug, "Just a friendly drink, _one_ drink – tonight."

"Pat, you're nice – I like you," she smiled, shaking her head s she continued to take photos, "But – "

Unfortunately for Pat Harley, Don had noticed him edging towards Jen and had come up the walkway towards them. He gave a pointed glare to Harley, "Sorry, kid – I've already booked her for tonight." Don crossed his arms, nodding his head in Stella's direction, "I think Detective Bonasera's looking for you."

Pat gave an exaggerated frown to Jen, who waved him on with a shrug, before he strode past Don towards Stella, making no note of the dirty look Don shot him. Don cleared his throat, pulling out his notebook.

Jen crouched down again, looking into the lens. "You really ought to control yourself, Don," she smiled, looking up at him.

He pretended to jot something into his notes. "I have _no _idea what you're talking about," he replied pleasantly, the slight twitch of his brow and lips taking away from his agreeable response.

"It's cute," she straightened up, leaning towards him, "But, you know, it's not really fair for _you_ to have all the fun now, is it?" She nodded towards all the single women – the runners who had discovered the body – he had managed to charm this time around.

"Hey – I – that – " he sputtered, snapping his notebook shut.

"Psh," she cut him off with a smirk, "Don't even, darl." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before moving down the crime scene.

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Jess gave a cough as she covered up her amused chuckle, watching Lindsay try to keep a straight face as she questioned Nancy Morgan. They had just discovered that Mrs. Morgan's sexual tastes surrounded a certain interpretation of asphyxiophilia – being pressed by very large men. _There are all sorts…_

"Yes, my husband is aware," Nancy inspected her nails, "If you hadn't guessed by the fact that we run a sexual fetish club, then I'll speak plainly – we have an _open _relationship." She met Lindsay's eyes, smirking.

Lindsay sighed, pushing the autopsy photo of Henry Perkinson across the table, "But are _you _aware that the man you had sex with is now dead?"

Nancy pinched her lips, looking away as she pushed the photo back to Lindsay, "No. I had no idea."

"Mrs. Morgan, it's my turn to speak plain," Lindsay leaned forward, placing her arms on the table. "You're a suspect in an open murder investigation."

"What - ?"

"We found a hair – _your _hair – on a dead man's body, along with a white powder, which we identified as Esteé Lauder's Perfumed Body Powder, – a substance that _you _use – in his hair." Lindsay smiled pleasantly, keeping her eyes fixed on Nancy Morgan, "You've already admitted to having an extramarital affair with this man – it's only a matter of time before we find more evidence linking you to his murder."

"I did _not _murder Henry!" Nancy snapped. "That's preposterous!"

"At this moment, I'm afraid that it doesn't seem so 'preposterous.'"

Nancy jumped forward quickly, jabbing a long, manicured nail onto the photo, "I left _this _man _alive _that night _in his home_ – I left him alive for another member of the club."

Jess raised an eyebrow, "A name would be nice."

Nancy leaned back, crossing her arms, "Shoshanna, Shoshanna Johnson."

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"So, which name do you prefer – Shoshanna or Molly?" Danny remarked, settling in the chair across from Molly Sanders.

She pursed her lips, replying plainly, "Molly."

"So, Molly," Danny clasped his hands together in front of him, "Why'd you lie about Henry Perkinson?"

"I didn't _lie _about knowing Mr. Perkinson," she snapped.

"Nah," Danny wrinkled his nose, frowning slightly, "You two are just in the same club."

"Just because we're in the same organization, it does not mean that we're familiar," she retorted.

"But you're familiar with Robert Lorty," Hawkes stepped forward, leaning his hands on the edge of the table.

"Excuse me?"

"Robert Lorty?" Hawkes repeated, pushing across the autopsy photo. "The man you saw on the night of his death."

"Don't be ridiculous – "

"You see, we have visual confirmation from both the concierge at the Royalton and some security footage," Danny cut her off, pushing across some stills rom the said video, "You were there, and see this?" he pointed to the time stamp, "This places you in that room at the time of death – _his _death."

Molly silently glared at the photos, biting her lip. Hawkes shrugged, "I'd rather not make any assumptions about your relationship with the man, but obviously something happened."

"Maybe you didn't like your partner of choice having sex with other women?" Danny held his hands out, shrugging, "Maybe you found out that he liked having sex with non-club members – Jessica Mendoza, for example," he continued, getting to his feet, "Got jealous, got mad, and decided to do something about it – spike his champagne maybe?"

"Did you know that Robert Lorty was allergic to Viagra?" Hawkes asked, glancing at the folder in his hand.

"I didn't _kill _Robert," she said forcefully, looking up to meet his eyes. "I didn't kill him!"

"I'd really like to believe you, Molly," Hawkes said sympathetically as he showed her another page in the folder, "But you see, the prints we collected from you as elimination samples for Henry Perkinson's murder match the prints we pulled from the champagne bottle recovered from Lorty's suite – the bottle which we discovered traces of _Sildenafil citrate_, Viagra, in."

"Ok! I gave him the bottle!" she let out in a raised tone, slamming a hand on the table, "But I had _no _idea it had _Viagra_ in it!"

"Where'd you get the champagne?" Danny stood next to her, looking at her carefully.

Molly stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the table.

"You're going to have to be more cooperative, Molly," Hawkes said gently. "Where did you get the champagne?"

"The-the hotel – room service," she let out, looking up at Hawkes.

"You're lying," Danny shook his head, "You're going to have to do better than that, Molly."

She gritted her teeth, her lips set in a thin grimace – glaring back at him in silence.

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Victim's nae is Camille Oberlin, 25 years old," Sid said putting his glasses on. "COD is pretty obvious," he gestured at the bullet wound in the temple, "I put time of death at about six hours."

"Doesn't look like a suicide," Stella frowned.

"Are you asking or telling me?" Sid smiled.

"She's telling you," Jen mock-whispered.

Stella shot her a look, to which Jen raised her arms in surrender. Sid laughed, "And I would have to agree, there is no muzzle burn and the angle and depth of the wound indicates that the shooter was standing at least five feet away from Ms. Oberlin, here."

"The lack of blood at the site of discovery would indicate a dump job," Stella had one hand across her stomach, the other arm resting on top of that one – gesturing, "But Mac didn't find anything at her apartment, everything was in place and there were no traces of blood anywhere."

"Sounds like you're still looking for your primary crime scene," Sid commented.

Stella sighed, dropping her arms to her side, "Correct."

"Well," he pulled the cart closer to him, picking up a petri dish, "Perhaps this might help – found it stuck to her lower back on the band of her skirt."

He handed the dish to Jen who looked at it in the light, "Looks like a lollipop stick – chewed quite thoroughly." She turned to Stella, "I'll take this down to DNA – maybe we'll find a connection to someone."

Stella nodded, watching Jen leave before turning her attention to Sid, "Anything else?"

"Sorry," Sid shrugged, "That's all I have, Stella."

She pressed her lips into a smile, "It's okay – thanks."

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"She's obviously hiding something," Lindsay said pointing through the glass. Molly sat at the far side of the table, an arm hugging her abdomen and the other with its elbow propped on the table. She nervously nibbled on her thumb, her eyes focused on some spot in the corner.

"She's obviously protecting _someone_," Danny crossed his arms, frowning.

Jess entered the room, waving a folder, "And I have a guess as to who."

Hawkes stood up, "Do tell."

"Adam ran Sanders's financial records and noticed that large sums of money had been added to her account from the account of one Peter Morgan," Jess smiled, handing the file over to Lindsay, "Looks like 'Shoshanna' got her VIP pass by sleeping with the owner."

"But what's his connection to Robert Lorty and Henry Perkinson?" Hawkes asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Other than the club, nothing," Jess shrugged.

Lindsay's head snapped up, meeting Jess's eyes, "Wait."

"You got something, Montana?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

"When I was walking Mrs. Morgan to the door, she mentioned something about her husband's peculiar change in tastes," Lindsay raised a hand, a distant look in her eyes.

"_I can sense you judgi__ng me, Detective Monroe," Nancy smiled at Lindsay._

_Lindsay shook her head, "It's not my place."_

"_We weren't always like this – we would talk of experimenting but never went through with any of that talk," Nancy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, waving it towards Lindsay, who shook her head, before taking one out to light._

"_So, what changed?" Lindsay asked out of curiosity._

"_My husband and I started this club two years ago, when I stopped being enough for him," Nancy shrugged. "He suffered head trauma in a boating accident – after which he became – "_

" - 'Violent, disturbed, and forceful in bed,'" Lindsay repeated, glancing up, "Mrs. Morgan mentioned that her husband began to show interest in things that disturbed her."

"Such as?" Hawkes probed.

"Blood, death – gory visions," she answered, "She said it was as if death sexually aroused him."

"That has got to be one of the more sickening things I have ever heard," Danny said with distaste.

"But it makes sense," Lindsay said excitedly, "There _is_ a sexual fetish revolving around murder – erotophonophilia, the paraphilic term associated with lust mrder."

"Do I want to know _why _you know that…?" Danny gave her a disturbed look which Lindsay ignored.

"So you're telling me that _Peter Morgan _murdered these two men _to get off_?" Jess said incredulously, her eyes widened in disgust.

"I'm saying it's a possibility," Lindsay nodded, "Maybe he got tired of imagining it – Morgan could have easily gotten Molly Sanders to help him in distracting the men so he could kill them. We have both physical and word evidence placing Sanders _with _both men at their TODs – not that she _killed _them."

"How much you want to bet that Mr. Morgan owns a pair of size 9 tactical boots?" Hawkes glanced up from the folder in his hands.

"Let's pay the Morgans a visit," Jess pulled out her phone.


	14. Chapter 13: Oh My Hero Part 2 & Callous

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 13: Oh My Hero Part 2 | Callous Foreplay Part 7**

* * *

Stella stood at the lit table, surveying the items recovered from the scene on the bridge. She had her arms crossed with her eyes fixated on the items – giving each object a scrutinizing squint. She had been through them a number of times already, trying to relate them to the crime in one way or another. However, there was nothing for her to do after identifying each piece of evidence. At this point, with no primary crime scene, no suspects – no _anything _ - there wasn't much she _could_ do.

Fibers from a gray woolen piece of clothing – _Could be from _any _piece of clothing…_

A heel mark in the victim's jeans – _Size 6 stilettos… Common shoe size, common style of shoe…_

Chewed gum – _Turned up no leads…_

Trash – _Useless._

Stella gave a frustrated sigh – she had never enjoyed the moments when the recovered evidence led them nowhere, leaving them with nothing to work off of. At this point, there was only one thing she _could_ do and even Stella had to admit that returning to the bridge would – almost completely – likely prove to be useless.

"You look like you're ready for some good news."

Stella looked up, relaxing her grimace. She sighed exasperatedly, "Was it that obvious?"

Jen gave her a sympathetic look, "Holding up all right?"

"Well," Stella dropped her arms, reaching for the edge of the table, "That depends on your '_good news_.'"

Jen smiled, holding up the folder with both hands, "In that case, you're going to be fantastic."

Stella raised a brow, "I'm waiting."

"I lifted two pairs of partials off of the lollipop stick – the first is a match to Camille Oberlin, our vic," Jen flipped open the folder, showing Stella the picture of a brunette woman giving a shy smile, "The other is a match in CODIS to a Jennifer Loring – 35 year old 7th grade social studies teacher at Columbia Secondary School."

"That _is _good news," Stella gave a wide smile, taking off her labcoat, "Got an address?"

"Of course," Jen handed her the folder, "151 West – 122nd Street."

"I'll take Flack and – "

"Before you go," Jen added, "I also ran the traces of saliva found on the chewed end – no matches in CODIS and no complete match to Loring but the two DNA profiles were _pretty _similar –"

"Similar enough to be filial?" Stella rifled through the folder, turning to the DNA results.

"Yep," Jen nodded, shrugging, "Now the questions are _how _the two women know each other and _why _the stick of the lollipop young Loring was chewing on was stuck to our vic's skirt."

"And I will keep you posted," Stella smiled and waved the folder, swiftly exiting the room.

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"I have no comment."

Danny rolled his eyes, having listened to that same phrase for the umpteenth time in the past hour. He glowered at Peter Morgan who sat coolly in his chair, examining his wristwatch, "Come on, Morgan – you _know _you did it, _I_ know you did it, your _wife _knows you did it – "

" – where's your _proof_?" Morgan smiled sweetly, his calm eyes meeting Danny's stormy ones.

Danny frowned, "We found a pair of size 9 tactical boots in your possession – a match to the boot prints we lifted from the floor of Robert Lorty's hotel suit – "

" – a common shoe size," Morgan laughed, waving his hand dismissively, "And you can't possibly be presumptuous enough to say that I'm the only man in New York who owns tactical boots…"

Behind the glass, Lindsay crossed her arms, watching Danny pace to his seat and sit down. She glanced over her shoulder at Jess who was standing next to Molly Sanders, keeping an eye on her. Jess raised an eyebrow, giving her a short nod. Lindsay nodded back, turning to the glass again – rapping it with her knuckles twice.

"You're forgetting we have your girlfriend in custody," Danny leaned forward, tapping a finger on the table before Morgan, "She had quite the interesting story to tell." _Yeah. Nothing. _Quite _interesting…_

Morgan smirked, "A 'story,' Detective Messer – the ramblings of a foolish _girl_," he leaned forward, meeting Danny's gaze head on, "With no physical proof, the testimony of a paid sex slave won't be enough – the jury would laugh her off the stand."

Jess carefully watched Sanders grip her own arm tightly, nails digging into her flesh. The girl shook, a mess of emotions racing across her face.

"_You're special – different from those mindless cows," Peter smiled, clasping the silver necklace around her neck._

_She turned her head, meeting his gaze with a loving smile, "'Special?'"_

_Peter pulled her close to him, resting his head upon her shoulder. "You'll never be a slave," he whispered into her ear._

"See," Danny gave a smirk of his own, "That's where you're wrong, Mr. Morgan." Danny picked up the file resting on the edge of the table. Standing up, he opened it – sliding it in front of Morgan as he came to stand next to the man. "We _have _proof," Danny continued smugly, watching Morgan lean forward to give the photo in the folder a careful look.

Morgan looked up, raising a brow, "Am I supposed to recognize this?"

"You should," Danny grinned complacently, "It's the leather bola tie you carelessly threw away in your cellar."

"That is not – "

Danny ignored him, going on, "The same leather bola tie you used to kill Henry Perkinson." He shrugged, "We have _all_ the physical proof we need – the murder weapon is an _irrefutable _piece of evidence, you see."

"You're not – "

Danny made a face, tapping a finger to his temple, "Oh and remember that bottle of champagne? _You _thought that with Molly's fingerprints _all _over it, it would pin _her _as the prime suspect for Robert Lorty's murder." He leaned over, patting Morgan on the shoulder, "You completely forgot that _you _personally place the labels on the bottles you sell. We lifted _your _print on the adhesive side – we connected that bottle to your shop in an instant," Danny snapped his fingers.

Molly Sanders turned to Lindsay, her lower lip shaking, "Detective Monroe – I'll tell you everything."

Lindsay smiled gently, patting her on the arm. Jess went to the glass, rapping her fingers on the surface twice.

"And wow," Danny swept the file from Morgan's fingertips, "Now we _also _have an eyewitness to your crimes – that '_girl_,' I'm sure, has _a lot _to say."

Morgan narrowed his eyes at Danny, the muscles in his face twitching and losing composure. He wracked his brains for a swift, biting remark but found none for his mind was occupied by too many dark, whirling thoughts. He slammed a closed fist onto the tabletop, shooting a dangerous look at Danny with raw rage in his eyes.

"'Hell hath no fury,'" Danny shrugged, tapping the folder on the table.

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Jen rapped lightly on the glass. Mac looked up from the case file in his hand, greeting her with a smile, "How are we doing?"

"Well!" Jen said with a smile, entering the office, "Stella and Don are following up on a very solid lead."

"Good to hear," Mac nodded, turning his head to the side and looking at her carefully, "But I get the feeling you're here for something else."

"Yeah," Jen nodded, a slight anxiety in her motions. She approached his desk, a light shrug rolling off her shoulders, "I wanted to ask if I could move up my vacation leave."

"I thought you and Don were planning to go to Brussels together in the summer for a month?" Mac raised an eyebrow. _This was unusual – Jen asking for time off…_

"We decided against Brussels," she scratched her neck, pinching her lips to one side, "We haven't decided where we're going to go - so I figured it might be okay for me to take a week or two off to take care of some business…?"

"Well, you have plenty of vacation days stocked up," he gestured with one hand, shrugging, "You haven't taken a lengthy vacation's leave since I hired you."

"I'm glad you remember," she grinned.

Mac shook his head, grinning back, "But you can't blame me for being curious – _you _wanting vacation time?"

She laughed a little, glancing down at the floor for a moment before raising her head to meet his eyes again, "Not _really _vacation time…"

Mac raised his eyebrow again, standing up, "Now you've got me intrigued."

Jen sighed, crossing her arms. She cleared her throat, giving him an apologetic look, "An old friend in D.C's in trouble – he asked me for help and I can't say no." She shrugged, wincing slightly.

Mac nodded slowly, coming to stand in front of Jen. He patted her on the arm, "I understand – you have two weeks."

"Thanks, Mac," she offered a soft smile, offering a slight bow before leaving his office.


	15. Chapter 14: Callous Foreplay Part 8 & Re

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 14: Callous Foreplay Part 8 | Redacted Part 1**

* * *

_The man smiled taking the bottle from her outstretched hand. Molly swept her hair back, shrugging off her overcoat – showing the provocative little arrangement she was boasting underneath. She shook the wine flutes, grabbing the bottle back to pour the champagne into the glasses. Lorty met her eyes, unbuttoning the hastily done shirt, as he took the glass from her extended hand._

"_Cheers."_

_One large gulp and Lorty was gasping for air, face flushing and hand pounding upon his chest. He took another gulp, hoping that it would clear the constriction upon his throat – if only he hadn't. He stumbled backwards onto the bed, lying flat upon his back. His eyes widened, the pupils flipping backwards into his head, as he clutched at his open chest – clawing at the erratic motions pounding within his body._

_It only took a few moments – time that Molly spent backing away with wide, horrified eyes, clapping her hands over her mouth and watching him die._

_She backed right into Peter, who clutched her to him by the shoulders. His leather gloves rubbed against her bare skin as his hoarse breath tickled her neck. Soon she was distracted by the sensation of his warm hands, running up her side – tripping over her clothes as they skillfully undid them._

"_I love you."_

_She sighed, eyes fluttering, at the touch of his lips brushing against her collar as Robert Lorty breathed his last._

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"This is rather sudden," Don played with his tie, sitting lightly on the arm of her couch.

Jen gave him a small smile as she passed him in her rush around the house, gathering belongings for her travel suitcase, "Sorry, Don – but it's not like I planned this."

"Of course not," he watched her, an obviously put out expression on his face.

She folded the shirt, placing it into the large suitcase resting on the coffee table. She glanced up at him as she reached for another article of clothing to fold. She pursed her lips, giving him a disappointed look of her own, "I wish you wouldn't make such faces, Don…"

"Should I be _happy _that you're leaving then?" Don wrinkled his nose, standing up and coming to hug her from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist. He leaned down, resting his chin upon her shoulder, and gave a sigh.

"Well, you can flirt freely without me around," she teased.

Don rolled his eyes, knocking his forehead into her shoulder, "_Jen_."

Jen set the sweater in her hand down, looking over her shoulder at him, "It's not like I'm _moving _back to D.C. – "

Don straightened up abruptly, giving her a very serious distraught look, "That _better _not happen."

"_It's not_," she stressed as she laughed lightly, turning in his arms to look at him, "I'm coming back." She fixed his tie, smoothing out his collar, then looked up to meet his eyes. "Two weeks – then I'll be back to bust your ass," she teased.

Don gave a half-hearted grin, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. She pulled back from the kiss, smiling at him – reassurance in her soft gaze. She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a tight squeeze. Then with a peck on his cheek she pulled away from him, "Now let me finish packing!"

"Such a tyrant," Don chuckled.

Jen raised a brow, "Well, it's better for you if I finish sooner."

He raised his own eyebrow in response, "Is that so?"

She glanced at the clock before turning back to him, a sly look in her eyes, "Well," her voice dropped low, teasing him, "You _do _have two hours before you're back on duty," she turned her focus back on the clothes, "_And _I've got four hours before my flight…" She glanced back at him, her eyes twinkling suggestively.

"Point made," Don grinned, "Hurry up."

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_Molly let out a sharp gasp as her back hit against the papered wall. Perkinson grabbed her by the hips, pulling her forcefully towards him. Her legs wrapped around one of his, the anterior line of her left leg running up his right one. She flashed him a seductive look, bringing her lips to his as she let her skin rub her intentions into his. He gave a laugh, meeting her moves. She pushed him backwards, directing him towards the bed and, in one sudden twist, landing in it on her back. She pulled him on top of her, hands clawing into his back. He gave a dark grin, twisting so he lay next to her. She climbed on top, straddling his body – her hands reaching for his neck._

_Perkinson closed his eyes as Molly's cool, slender fingers wrapped around his neck. She pushed – placing force upon his trachea, closing off his airways. Molly gave a meaningful smile as she ground her hips into his groin – watching Peter approach the bed._

_The man swiftly slid off the buckle, wrapping the ends of the bola tie around his hands. Peter gave a reassuring smile to Molly as he readied his weapon. She nodded, sliding her hands from Perkinson's neck to his abdomen – he responded with a shudder, her actions tickling his body. It was then that Peter brought the length of the tie down upon Perkinson's neck, forcing the man to open his eyes and jerk his head upwards. Peter swiftly wrapped the bola tie around the man's neck, crushing his windpipes. Molly did her best to stay on Perkinson, quickening her pace with her body pressing into his – arms and legs thrashing with his. Perkinson tore at the bindings on his neck, fighting to breathe. Peter just tightened his grip, watching the man's pupils constrict and dance wildly._

_Molly and Peter shared in ecstasy as Henry Perksinson expred with guttural screams…_

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Jen pulled her coat closer around her at the shapr blast of the winter wind blowing her way as she stepped out into the open, the automatic doors of the airport closing behind her. She glanced around, looking for the familiar silver SUV, and was greeted by a handsome black man, his caramel-coffee skin beaming in the sunlight as brightly as his perfectly drawn out smile. He waved her over, stepping off of his car. Eames Shacks would always have that boyish college scholar look about him, only adding to his perfect charm and luck with the ladies. It also left him looking forever mid-20s, making him look even more youthful than Jen who was two years younger. Jen shook her head, meeting his grin with a broad smile of her own. She jogged lightly over to him, dropping her bag to the side, as she leapt right into his arms. The 6'4" man bear-hugged her, squeezing the laughter out of her body.

"It's so good to see you, Jenny!" he let out an energetic yell, drawing the attention of a few people standing nearby. She pounded on his chest with a free arm, pressing against his hold.

"Let me go you big lug!" she guffawed.

Shacks pulled back, holding her at arm's length, "I haven't seen you in person in about two years!"

"Whose fault is that?" she said shaking her finger at him.

He gave a wide shrug, declaring, "No idea!"

Jen shook her head, punching him lightly in the arm, "You're a terrible best friend…"

Shacks just laughed, grabbing her bag off of the floor, "And yet you've stuck with me for the past 10 years."

"Not by choice," she stuck her tongue out at him. He tossed her suitcase into the backseat, turning bck to her as he slammed the door.

Shacks gave her an exaggerated look of dismay, "That cuts me _deep_," he pounded his chest with a closed fist, "_Right _here."

"Let's go, you drama queen," Jen snorted, "Take me to see Hobbes!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" Shacks saluted, opening the passenger's seat door for her.

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Molly Sanders stood still, waiting for the officer to finish clapping the handcuffs on her wrists. She gazed at Lindsay, a hollowness emanating from her cloudy eyes. The officer gave a slight push to her arm, directing her towards the doorway. Molly Sanders continued her empty gaze, not lifting her eyes from Lindsay's.

Lindsay stared after her, a roiling disgust crawling through her stomach and horrified confusion wracking her mind. She turned away, tightly clutching the folder in her hand, and walked down the hall a ways – her eyes fixed on a point not really the floor or the ceiling of the hall nor the hall itself. The words didn't seem to be able to form within her mind – _confusion._

Lindsay jerked out of her thoughts as a hand clapped on her back. She looked to her side, meeting Danny's concerned look. She gave a smile, shoving back slightly.

"You good, Lindsay?" Danny asked.

"Yeah," she smiled, sighing, "I'm good." She grabbed his arm, pressing close to him.

Danny looked over at her, landing a light kiss on her head, "You hungry?"

"Starving," Lindsay laughed.

"Let's grab a bit to eat."

"Sounds good!"

The couple made their way down the hallway, a certain assertive gait about them – their shoulders relaxed in each other's company.

"So…" Danny began, drawing Lindsay's gaze, "Are you going to tell me how you know so much about…?"

Lindsay shoved him hard then, mirth in her eyes.


	16. Chapter 15: Oh My Hero Part 3 & Redacted

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 15: Oh My Hero Part 3 | Redacted Part 2**

* * *

Stella still couldn't wrap her head around…

"_Mrs. Loring," Stella pushed the photo across the coffee table, "Do you know this woman?"_

_Jennifer Loring leaned forward, putting a hand on the photo as she inspected it carefully. She looked up, a confused expression knitting her eyebrows, "Yes – this is Camille."_

"_What's your relation to Ms. Oberlin?" Flack asked, carefully scrutinizing the school teacher who was struggling with her four year old daughter._

"_She's my younger brother's former fiancé," she looked over to the photos lining the ledge behind the couch on the side before returning her gaze to the two detectives, "He died overseas two years ago – killed in action. I haven't seen Camille since the funeral. Has nothing happened?"_

_Flack glanced at Stella who nodded back. She had noticed as well – there was something _off _about Mrs. Loring._

_Stella leaned forward, taking the photo back. She met Jennifer's eyes and pursed her lips apologetically, "Camille Oberlin was found on the Brooklyn Bridge, shot dead. The gun was recovered at the scene in her hand and it is a gun registered in her name."_

_Jennifer raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening, "Camille committed suicide?"_

_Stella looked at the woman carefully, giving a slight shake of her head. "No," she clasped her hands, "She was murdered._

"_But you just said – "_

_Stella cut her off swiftly, "The wound is inconsistent with a suicide attempt."_

_Jennifer shook her head, setting her daughter on the sofa next to her, "What does this have to do with my family?"_

"_A lollipop stick was recovered from Camille Oberlin's body, we pulled partial prints from it matching back to Camille and you," Stella said, showing the woman the copies of the fingerprints. "We also pulled a saliva sample from the stick with a partial DNA match to your own DNA, with enough matching alleles to be a filial match." Stella nodded in the young Loring's direction, "I suspect that the DNA would be a match to your daughter."_

_Flack watched Jennifer Loring glance at her daughter then back at them, a slight tenseness to her actions – her shoulders set and her hands moving very deliberately. "What were you doing last night around 11 pm?" he asked. _

_The woman gave him a very affronted look, defensively replying, "What – why are you asking me this?"_

"_Because Mrs. Loring, there is obviously a connection between you, or someone in your family, and this woman's death," Stella stated matter-of-factly, staring down the woman who had shifted her uncertain gaze from Flack to her._

"_Why - ?"_

" – _please answer Detective Flack's question, ma'am."_

_Jennifer turned her focus back to Flack, glancing down at her hands before meeting his eyes again, "I was out, taking a walk with my daughter."_

"_You took a walk out in the city with your young daughter at 11 at night?" Flack raised an eyebrow._

"_Cailey has trouble falling asleep," Jennifer played with her wedding ring, "The night air makes her feel better."_

"_I'm sorry," Stella smiled, shaking her head, "I'm having a hard time believing you."_

"_But it's the truth!"_

"_You started your story with a lie," Flack shrugged, "It's making the rest of the story hard to believe."_

"_I didn't – "_

"_You said that you hadn't seen Camille Oberlin since your brother's funeral, but that's a lie – isn't it?" Stella stood up, coming to sit next to Jennifer. "You saw her last night, didn't you?"_

"_I didn't – "_

"_Hey, beautiful," Flack smiled down at Cailey Loring who had stumbled over to his side of the coffee table. She grinned up at him, her large, round eyes blinking shly. She curled one hand over Flack's knee as she slapped a hand onto the table, brushing against the photo of Camille Oberlin._

_Stella watched Jennifer stare at her daughter, bending over to grab the photo with both tiny hands. Cailey cocked her head to one side, her blonde pigtails bobbing with the motion. She looked at the picture, sticking her fingers into her mouth._

"_Mrs. Loring," Stella waved a hand before Jennifer's eyes. The woman turned her focus back to Stella and Stella could see the worry in Jennifer Loring's eyes. "We have evidence connecting you to our dead vic – and your supposed alibi is your four year old daughter?"_

_Flack picked up Cailey, resting her on his knee, "What you got there, little lady?"_

_Cailey waved the photo at him, looking up at him as she slapped a wet finger onto Camille Oberlin's face. "Cammi!" she squealed._

"'_Cammi?'" Flack repeated, taking the photo from her. "Who's Cammi, lovely?"_

"_Mommy's friend," Cailey smiled, wriggling around as she tossed a look at her mother._

_Flack glanced at Jennifer Loring who looked very trapped, before he turned his smile back on Cailey. "Was Cammi here last night?"_

_The little girl nodded, climbing off of Flack's lap. She ran down the hall and into a room. Stella gave a disdainful smile to Jennifer, "I guess you didn't get a chance to feed Cailey some story about her Cammi."_

_Jennifer Loring glanced between Stella and Flack, her hands now shaking and her face fixed in a look of fierce consternation. "My daughter's only four – she has some incredible fancies – "_

"_Save it," Flack stood up, giving a slight laugh, "We need you to come with us."_

_Jennifer shut her mouth then, standing up with no resistance. She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter who had returned to the living room, dragging a jacket – most likely Camille's – in with her._

_Stella grabbed her by the upper arm, "We're also going to need the clothes and shoes you wore last night."_

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Jen looked around the empty factory, wrinkly her nose at the dust that was apparent on the floors and unused metal appliances. Shivering slightly, she shifted from one foot to the other, buttoning another button on her heavy overcoat.

_Footsteps on cement, _Jen turned to see the tall Caucasian man walking towards her. He sported a confident smile, sweeping his brown hair to one side with a quick jerk of his head. "Look who it is," he nodded.

"Hey," Jen smiled, walking up to him with open arms. They shared a firm hug, pulling back with seriousness in their eyes, "So what's going on?"

"I'm in a tight spot," Hobbes glanced off to the side before meeting her gaze, "I'm going to need you to – "

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "Who?"

Hobbes smiled, shaking his head at her impatience, "Always so ready."

"Of course," she laughed, giving him a shove. "That's why you called me, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he nodded, the smile lasting on his lips. He pulled out a thick envelope from the folds of his coat, "Natalie Lin."

Jen took the packet from him, tearing the seal and quickly scanning the contents, "Chinese-American citizen, Baltimore residence, student at the University of Baltimore – confirm?"

"Confirmed."

"Okay," she glanced up at him, "Where's the meet?"

"Patterson Park, Baltimore, Maryland."

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Stella stared at Jennifer Loring who sat across from her in the interrogation room. Jennifer glanced up, giving her a very blank look – her eyes devoid of any emotion.

_Mac entered the viewing room, glancing through the glass at Jennifer Loring. He turned to Stella who was giving a very fierce look to the glass, "Heard we had some good news."_

_She shifted slightly, turning her head, "Yeah, we have Camille Oberlin's killer."_

"_That's good isn't it?" Mac smiled slightly, patting Stella on the arm. "What's with the look?"_

_Stella shrugged, shaking her head. "It doesn't make sense to me, Mac." She gestured with an open hand at the woman sitting behind the glass. "Camille was going to be her sister-in-law before Corporal Goodwin was killed in action. She and Camille maintained a good relationship throughout the engagement and even after the corporal's death – then one day she decides to _kill _her?" She threw her hands up, "I don't see any motive in this."_

"_What does the evidence say?"_

_Stella bit her lip, glancing off to the side, before she looked back at Mac. She rubbed a hand against her neck, "That Jennifer Loring killed Camille Oberlin – the fibers and the heel print are matches to the sweater and shoes Loring was wearing last night and GSR was all over the clothes. When we swept the house we found traces of bleach and blood in the white carpeting of the living room – blood is a match to Camille Oberlin. Jennifer Loring _killed _Camille Oberlin – I just don't know _why_.__"_

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Don reached for his buzzing phone tiredly, not even glancing at the caller ID, "Flack."

"_You sound exhausted, darl._"

A smile spread across his lips then as he sat down, "Hey, Jen."

He could hear her laughter filter through, "_Hey silly._"

"Finally getting around to calling, I see," Don rested his phone on his shoulder as he undid the clasp of his watch.

"_Sorry, darl,_" he imagined her shrugging apologetically, brushing her long hair to one side. "_I've been busy._"

"It's been a few days," he sighed, "When you coming back?"

Jen laughed, "_You know I've gotten permission to be here for two weeks._"

He just sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"_I miss you too, darl,_" she sighed back.

He pursed his lips, "You better."

She laughed again, her tone turning even more apologetic, "_Especially since I'm going to be here for a little longer…_"

"What?"

"_I called Mac – he's letting me stay a few more weeks._"

"What are you doing exactly?" he straightened up, leaning forward onto his knees.

"_You know I can't tell you that. I've got Hobbes's privacy to think about_," she replied tiredly, "_I _will _assure you that it's completely danger-free, I'm perfectly safe and – _"

He snorted, "I doubt that."

"_Psh,_" she scoffed, "_Of course you would._"

Don ran his free hand across his forehead and through his hair, "You know I worry – "

" – _and you know I'm careful._"

Don shook his head, sighing resignedly, "I love you, Jen – you better not do anything stupid."

"_Psh,_" she teased, "_You think I'm _you_?_"

"Hey - !"

Jen cut him off, her voice tinged with level seriousness, "_I love you, Don – I'll be home soon._"

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Stella sighed, leaning forward onto the table.

Jennifer Loring continued her empty gaze, cocking her head to one side, "You know I did it," her voice remained emotionless, monotonous almost, "What am I still doing here?"

Stella met her gaze, her strong focus sharply directed at Jennifer Loring. She sat up, spreading her arms wide. "Why?" she asked simply.

Jennifer gave a small smile, the emotion creeping into her features. "'Why?'" she repeated, rolling the syllable in her mouth, "'Why?'"

"Why?"

Jennifer lowered her head, looking into her turned up palms resting in her lap. She laughed slightly, looking up at Stella but not really seeing her, "Do you know the story of Hero and Leander?" Her eyes focused, meeting Stella's.

"The legend of Hero and Leander, her lover, who swam across the Hellespont to be with her every night," Stella shifted in her chair, a hint of confusion lacing her eyes. "What of it?"

Jennifer smiled fondly, "Johnny loved stories." She bit her lip, "I told him the story of Hero and Leander when he was a boy. He grew up, joined the forces – fell in love with Camille." She shook her head, sadness tingeing her words, "He thought himself Leander, and she, his Hero," she laughed, tears wet in her eyes, "He said he'd swim the Atlantic for her…"

"And…?"

"He died," she sighed, a single tear breaking from her eyes and trailing down her cheek, "In the legend, Leander dies one night trying to cross the Hellespont… and Hero kills herself by throwing herself off her tower into the waters."

Stella stayed quiet, watching the woman collect her disarrayed emotions.

Jennifer swept her fingers across her cheeks, flicking the tears away, "'Why,' you asked." She smiled forlornly, "Johnny died and Camille lived."

"Leander separated forever from his Hero," Stella said slowly.

Jennifer looked off to the side, "Unfair. Where was the romance in that…?" She went silent then.


	17. Chapter 16: The Morning After Part 1

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 16: The Morning After Part 1**

* * *

Norman Peterson was a well-to-do businessman. He had graduated from the prestigious Stern School of Business of New York University, gotten married to his intelligent English Literature major high school sweetheart, and then jumped right into the corporate game. Peterson had built himself from beginning to end, bottom to top – leaping into the trick trade of individually owned businesses.

Norman Peterson was a child of fate. Peterson Inks was a lucky chance – the beautiful child of years of hard work and collections of sharp intellect. How was it so? Everyone knew that it took more than just intelligence and finance to excel in the school of selling – Peterson was the perfect assortment of all the proper traits: all-encompassing and with just enough gambling spirit to keep him afloat.

Norman Peterson was a _successful _businessman, ruthless and demanding – running the company with precise direction – but well loved and respected. It was in the office that he was the most proficient – where he was most at home: in a position of authority, in a locale of control. Perhaps – no – that _was _the problem.

Norman Peterson was a _businessman _– so much so that it was as if he had forgotten to be a man, a person. His associations with people outside the business setting were cordial at best, strained by his tactless attitude and supercilious assumptions. It was strange. One would think that being so adept at handling people through marketing, one would be able to associate with society in a, at the very least, efficient manner – _one would think_. Though. of course, driving across an unpleasant point very quickly was a skill in itself – very "efficient," leaving little doubt as to what those people who interacted with the "man" Peterson would think afterwards.

The wife suffered the most probably, dealing with the difficult man and his very thorny facets. Geraldine "Giri" Peterson was a rundown woman, exhausted by a husband who knew what he wanted and did not care about much else. Peterson was used to getting what he wanted, expecting the best results because he knew he could _only _produce such results. His demands of Mrs. Peterson were no less stiff. They were the expectations of a "perfect husband" who supported his family thoroughly, providing the resources needed for a family of four – the expectations of a "perfect father" who played soccer with his 14 year old son and lavishly doted on his 16 year old daughter, playing the role of the patriarch to the tee. It was the life of a woman who had to give, give, give… to receive the love a beautiful wife was expected to receive from her caring husband. It was a life of a man who was not afraid to give _more _than amorous intent – harsh words and biting flicks of wrists being other staple forms of communication.

Norman Peterson was not a _bad _man – just a poor one of thin patience and wavering temperament. Thankfully, he knew it himself and he _did _try to fix his problems and to face his troubling characteristics. But they would still run into the days where he would unleash his horror at night and come crawling back to apologize in the morning, regretful and well-intending – love in his eyes. It was a habit, a terrible conception of ritualistic aspects in life.

Perhaps this was why he was not surprised when he awoke one morning in bed, swimming in the white sheets and tall pillows, with his wife laying next to him – dead, a monstrous cut across her throat bleeding out the red liquid in copious amounts.

Perhaps this was why he held onto the knife in his bloody hands tighter when he realized – anguish in his actions and remorse in his eyes.

Norman Peterson was a distraught man who knew the extent of his mean temper that had undoubtedly been heightened by the alcohol he had shared with his wife the night before.

_Oh, I should have known…_

Young Jessie Peterson let loose a shrill scream, stumbling backwards as she laid eyes on the scene that had appeared before her upon her opening the double doors leading into the master bedroom – she shut her eyes tightly, crawling backwards on the balls of her hands.

"I'm sorry."

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"Victim's name is Geraldine Peterson, age 45 – wife of Peterson Inks's CEO Norman Peterson," Flack said as he watched the men cart the body out of the room. He made a slight face as he turned back to Stella photographing the blood seeped into the bed, "The daughter made the 9-1-1 call after she found her dad, knife in hand, with her dead mom."

"That's just awful," Lindsay shook her head, her face awash with an almost excessive sympathy, as she carefully made her way towards the bed, "Poor girl…"

Flack raised and eyebrow at her voice thickened with extreme emotion, "That's quite the tone you've got there, Linds."

"Ignore her, she gets more emotional with each month," Danny twitched his nose as he set down his kit.

Stella lowered her camera, looking up at Lindsay, "I thought you weren't coming out into the field with the baby bump?"

"I'm only a little over two months along – I can still move pretty well," Lindsay shrugged, "I'm not a whale yet."

"Yet," Danny stressed. Lindsay turned on him, giving him a sharp slap across his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Lindsay and Danny were expecting – all of the CSIs were very excited about seeing their first office baby. Just two weeks after Jen had left for D.C., the two had dropped the news to Mac and the rest of the team – that had been four weeks ago…

"Uh-huh," Stella gave an amused grin, "Well you two can divide and conquer – I've got the middle of the room, Lindsay take left and Danny take right."

"Got it, boss," Danny saluted jokingly, picking up his kit again and making his way over towards the windows. Lindsay rolled her eyes, giving a helpless shrug as she went to the other end of the room.

Stella shook her head as she watched Lindsay lower herself quickly but carefully, "Still can't believe she's pregnant…"

"Maybe you're just jealous," Flack remarked offhandedly, jotting down notes into his notepad.

Stella looked up from the patch she had been inspecting on the lower end of the bed, pausing in her motions abruptly, "Are you _serious_, Flack?"

Flack shrugged awkwardly, clearing his throat, "Have you heard from Jen?" He looked up from his notebook, snapping it shut – his eyes hopeful. He hadn't heard from Jen since the day she had called and told him she'd be home soon – Mac had told him about a week ago that Jen had extended her stay yet again…

Stella shook her head with an apologetic pinch of her lips, "Sorry, no – I don't think _any _of us have since Lindsay called her to tell her the news about a month ago."

Flack sighed, "Yeah…"

"Plus," Stella stood up, moving to her kit to grab a couple packets. She pocketed them, tossing a look towards Flack as she moved into pick up the hairs she had discovered on top of the sheets, "She's probably call _you _before the rest of us – you know that."

"Eh," he grunted, "She knows I get worried – I wouldn't be surprised if she's doing this on purpose so I don't get mad at her while she's down there."

Stella just gave him a look, "And whose fault is that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Flack wrinkled his nose, crossing his arms.

Stella brought the used packets to the case, dropping to one knee to place them in the container. "Don't worry so much," she straightened up as she met his furrowed gaze. "I'm sure she's fine," she smiled reassuringly, giving him a firm pat on the arm.


	18. Chapter 17: A Cup of Joe Part 1 & The Mo

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 17: A Cup of Joe Part 1 | The Morning After Part 2**

* * *

Hawkes had been the first CSI to arrive on scene at Penn Plaza. He had actually been only a few blocks away when he had received the text – forcing him to leave a nice, hot cup of latte and a _very _attractive brunette. He gave a rueful sigh, _Though I do have her number…_ Hawkes gave a small, inward smile before he stepped past the police line, taking in the settings and noticing the body crumpled upon the ground, surrounded by books and spilt cup of coffee – the deep brown liquid pooling around the man's hand and seeping into his sleeve. He set his case down, snapping on his gloves. Crouching down, he frowned slightly as he carefully lifted the dead man's right hand out of the coffee by the wrist with his gloved fingers. He wrinkled his nose at a peculiar scene that was behind the powerful scent of the coffee beans, _Huh._ Gently placing the hand back on the ground, he snapped open the case and pulled out a disposable dropper and a small jar. He glanced up at Mac who came to crouch down before him, giving him a nod, before he swiftly went about collecting a sample of the coffee into the jar and the cup with the rest of its liquid into a different container of its own.

Jess strode towards them, breaking away from the other officers at the scene. "Victim is Ray Urwald, a 55 year old librarian," she gestured over her shoulder at a crowd of people. Then pointing at the Borders standing straight across from them with her pen, she added, "Witnesses say that Mr. Urwald came out of the bookstore and took a few steps before dropping his belongings and toppling over."

"Taking your coffee with _cyanide _can do that to you," Hawkes remarked grimly.

Jess raised an eyebrow at the doctor, "'Cyanide?' – Our librarian's been poisoned?"

Mac took the case containing the coffee cup that Hawkes offered him. He gently swept his hand over the container, wafting the slight odors drifting from the opening. He met Hawkes's gaze, nodding his head, "Almond."

Hawkes met Jess's inquisitive look as he stood up, "Can't say for sure until we get the body to Sid but that cup of _back _coffee smells _distinctly _of almond – which means _a lot _of cyanide." He gestured with his hands from one side of his body to the other, "You see, potassium cyanide, when wet, undergoes hydrolysis and breaks down forming traces of hydrogen cyanide – a highly toxic substance that smells like bitter almonds."

Jess leaned over, taking a few good sniffs. She gave a puzzled expression and shrugged, "I don't smell anything."

"It's probably because you can't," Mac straightened up, fixing his coat, "Not everyone can smell it – it's a genetic trait."

Jess shrugged good-naturedly, "I'll just take your word for it," she gave a smile, "At least it makes our job easy – we have a lead already." She pointed the end of her pen back at the building housing the Borders bookstore, "Who's up for a cup of Starbucks?"

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"Looks like we're back at square one," Stella pursed her lips as she straightened up from the lab bench. Lindsay looked over at her from her side with her own piece of evidence in hand, a scrap of cloth she had pulled from the window pane. Stella took the blood-spattered white tank top and folded it before placing it back into the evidence bag.

"Not the husband?"

"Nopd," Stella sighed, taking the crime scene photos in hand. She gestured at the knife cut on the wife's neck, "With a wound like that – a knife wound inflicted from the _front _– you expect a pattern of medium-velocity blood spatter on the front of the shirt of the attacker." She tossed the photos back on the table, "Except for a few transfer patterns from the wife bleeding on him _after _being sliced – Peterson's shirt is clean."

Lindsay set her forceps down, "He was framed?"

"No evidence to prove that yet completely, but – in theory – yes, that seems very likely." Stella turned to the end of the table, looking at the other bags of evidence.

"Well," Lindsay picked up the bag closest to her, passing it to Stella, "Let's see what the other evidence says."

Stella smiled.

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Talking to the part-time baristas behind the counter at the Starbucks within the bookstore had left them with just a name – Paulie, Paulie Freedman. Fellow Baristas Julie, Joanna, and Joseph had been kind enough to tell them that Paulie had been the particular barista who had served Ray Urwald and that he had left work early that day. It had led Hawkes and Jess to Paulie's apartment complex where they were met by a very annoyed, crazy-haired superintendent who wanted her month's rent from Paulie who she conveniently hadn't seen for the past two weeks. It was a minor setback – Hawkes and Jess were tired but nowhere near done with their lovely trail of clues.

So now they were here – the American Museum of Natural History.

Hawkes folded his hands in front of him, holding onto his case as he shifted from one foot to the other. Jess tapped her foot impatiently, arms across her chest, as they waited for the director of the Division of Invertebrate Zoology to return with Carter Freedman, Paulie's older brother. Paulie's super had all but thrown them out of the building telling – more like _commanding _– them to go talk to Paulie's older brother who was a, quote, "_bug freak_." Carter Freedman worked at the museum in association with the New York Entomological Society, making the most of his hard earned degree in entomology at Cornell University – it made him a very _well-learned _and _skilled _"bug freak."

"Hi," Carter Freedman gave a friendly grin as he offered his hand to Hawkes, "I'm Carter Freedman – how can I help you?" He turned to Jess, obviously taken by her pretty looks. She gave a slight smile – he wasn't half bad himself.

"I'm Detective Hawkes and this is Detective Angell," Hawkes drew Carter's attention to him quickly, "We were wondering if you could tell us where your brother is."

"Paulie?" Carter's fce immediately morphed into a look of concern, "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He's a suspect in a murder," Jess showed him a picture of the body, "This is Ray Urwald, a librarian – do you know this man?"

Carter looked at the photo for a few moments before looking back and forth between Jess and Hawkes. "Wait a minute," he let out disbelievingly, "You're saying Paulie _killed _someone?"

Hawkes pursed his lips, "The man was killed by ingesting cyanide placed into his coffee that Paulie prepared at the shop he works at. Conveniently, he's _your _brother – as an entomologist, you have access to potassium cyanide."

"We've also been unable to locate Paulie following today's incident – his building's super led us to you," Jess waved a finger in Carter's direction.

"Do you recognize the man in the picture?" Hawkes repeated.

"No – no, not at all," Carter shook his head, rubbing his brow with one hand as he swept his labcoat back to put his free hand on his waist.

Jess slipped the photo into her notebook, "Do you know where we can find Paulie?"

Carter exasperatedly waved his hand, "He's not with me – and you say he wasn't at his apartment – so I really have no idea…"

"Any family members, friends, or girlfriends that he could be with?" Hawkes asked.

"Everyone in our family lives in Wisconsin – it's just Paulie and me in New York," Carter shrugged tiredly, "He never talks about his friends and… he wouldn't tell me about his girlfriends."

Jess noticed the slight hesitation. She raised an eyebrow, "Why's that?"

Carter cleared his throat, awkwardly running a hand through his hair, "Because the last girlfriend he introduced me to…" He gave an embarrassed cough, "Uh, left him for me." He hurriedly added, "But this was a few months ago – he and I reconciled completely and I broke up with her."

Jess gave a snort, shaking her head.

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Danny and Flack were running with the DNA evidence they had managed to recover. Danny had lifted fingerprints from the outside of the window looking into the master bedroom – from a window strangely devoid of fingerprints except for two pairs of prints placed as if two people had decided to look in at a particular point…

Flack was not amused. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop as he glared at the wannabe gangster sitting across from him. The blonde teen with his greasy hair and unceasing smirk boasted a stance that just _screamed_, "I (think I) am the shit." Flack didn't like smart-alecks when he was in the best of moods, so it was just a terrible idea leaving him to deal with this delinquent when he was stressed…

Danny was having just as much fun with his catch of the day.

"I don't know nothin'," Tony Ceron scoffed, scratching his cheek lazily.

"Yeah," Danny crossed his arms, annoyed, "I can see that."

Tony shoved his hands into his hoodie, giving an exaggerated shrug and knocking his dirty curls to one side, "Can I go home now?"

Danny gave an irritated sigh, "Yeah – " Danny was cut off by a loud clattering coming from the other room. He jumped up, waving a finger at Tony, "Stay here!"

Flack slammed his open palm upon the table in front of Nicky Williams, shoving his face into the startled teen's, "Either you _killed _the wife or you _saw _someone do it – save your ass the trouble and tell me what you saw!"

Danny burst through the door, "Flack - ?"

Flack shoved a hand in Danny's direction, silencing him and not dropping his fierce gaze from the kid's eyes. Nicky was a little worried now – the detective in front of him had flung his chair with a significant amount of anger and strength to the other side of the room. Now this same detective was giving him a _very _vicious glare – Nicky wasn't as good with infuriated men as he would like to think… Danny watched warily and inched forward slightly before he was stopped by Flack flashing him the same look he was giving the boy, _Flack… what are you doing…_

"_Spill_, kid," Flack growled, "Before I – "

" – there was a big, black guy!" Nicky hurriedly spoke, cutting Flack off. Flack raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly. Nicky nodded edgily, "There _was _– _he _killed Mrs. Peterson! Tony and I saw everything!"

Flack gave a slight grin, relaxing his glower and sharply patting Nicky on the cheek, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Nicky shook his head slowly, giving Flack a cautious look.

Danny came to stand next to the stormy detective, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Flack."

He straightened up as he stared Nicky down, jerking his thumb towards Danny, "Now tell Detective Messer _everything _you know."

Flack shrugged off Danny's hand and strode out of the room, straightening his jacket and loosening his tie. Danny looked after him, greatly taken aback by his friend's actions.

Flack headed straight past everything and did not stop until he felt fresh air blowing in his face. He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he closed his eyes and gave a sigh, _Damnit…_


	19. Chapter 18: A Cup of Joe Part 2 & The Mo

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 18: A Cup of Joe Part 2 | The Morning After Part 3**

* * *

"Paulie Freedman – NYPD!" Jess yelled, pounding her fist into the door. She looked towards the other officers and Mac and Hawkes who were ready with their own guns as she stepped away from the door, readying herself to kick it in.

They weren't expecting what happened next.

"Can I help you…?" a sleepy looking male poked his head out, looking very confusedly at them. Jess raised an eyebrow, lowering her gun.

"Paulie Freedman?" Hawkes stepped forward.

"Yeah?" Paulie yawned, scratching his nose, "'Sup…?"

Mac placed his gun back in his holster, "We need to chat."

"Uh, sure," Paulie rubbed his eyes, focusing on Mac, "Come on in." He opened the door fully.

The officers entered the room, making their way through and noticing all the evidence of a night of hard partying. Jess laughed outright at Paulie's Tweety Bird boxers, "Really…?" Paulie glanced down at what she was staring at, then, giving a chuckle, shrugged.

Hawkes was more preoccupied with the two obviously naked women in the hotel's full-sized bed. The red-head clutched the sheet tightly around her as she waved at him, giggling. The blonde was managing to cover herself with the fluffy pillows as she gave a silly grin to Mac, winking. Mac looked at Hawkes with a raised brow.

"Oh," Paulie skipped over to Hawkes who crossed his arms at the young man. "This is Olga," he pointed at the red-head, "And…" He gestured at the blonde, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember, "What's your name again…?"

"My name's Kelly," she admonished with a lilting whine, wrinkling her nose. She bit her lip teasingly, tossing her hair in Hawkes's direction.

"Of course, of course," Paulie bowed to her apologetically before turning back to Hawkes, "That's Kelly."

"Detective Mac Taylor," Mac showed Paulie his badge as he nodded towards his fellow CSI, "This is Detective Hawkes."

"Oh," Paulie squinted at the badge.

"You might want to send you," Hawkes coughed, "_Friends _home."

"Right," the young blonde gave an embarrassed smile, straightening up, "Of course." He turned to the two ladies laying in the bed, "We'll have to continue this another day, ladies."

Olga glanced at Kelly with a slight frown. Kelly just shrugged back with an exaggerated pout as she tossed the pillows aside and tumbled out of bed. Hawkes and Mac quickly averted their eyes, meeting Jess's very amused gaze.

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Lindsay frowned, "_The number you have dialed…_" She sighed as she hung up her phone for the third time, _What's going on, Jen…?_

Danny had told her about Flack losing his cool. He had seemed worried and Lindsay knew he had every right to be. Flack cared too much and a tendency to get too emotional when it came to matters concerning Jen. None of them blamed him – they were _all _worried. It wasn't like Jen to go off and not contact _anyone_ – she had always made sure to check-in, even if she was only gone for a day…

"Lindsay?"

She looked up and saw Stella striding down the hall. Pocketing her phone, she ran up to her. "I was just about to go find you," she smiled.

Stella looked her over quickly, noticing slightly off expression, "Is everything alright?"

"Huh?" Lindsay waved her hand dismissively, "Yeah, I'm fine – just a little tired, but I'm fine." Stella just gave her a look. "Seriously," Lindsay laughed, "I'm good!"

"Okay, if you say so," Stella shrugged, waving the file in her hand, "Guess who has good news?"

"Me!" Lindsay grinned, clapping her hands together.

Stella raised her eyebrows, "Oh?"

"Yep," Lindsay nodded, "I thought I remembered seeing that particular kind of cloth before and I realized that it's the same cloth that Peterson Inks uses for its uniforms. Norman Peterson wears _suits _to work so our perp is probably an employee."

"That's good," Stella nodded, bringing a hand to her chin, "But I know you – what else have you got?"

Lindsay beamed, shifting her body, "Well, going off of the description that Danny and Flack got out of our witnesses – I managed to narrow down the possible suspects to _three _Peterson Inks employees." She crossed her arms and gave a satisfied nod.

Stella nodded slowly, "That _is _good news." She waved a finger at Lindsay with a pleased grin of her own, "But I've got _better _news."

It was Lindsay's turn to raize her eyebrows, "Really?"

"Yep," Stellla flipped the folder open, showing Lindsay the contents, "I lifted a partial from the pen we found behind the bed and found a match in AFIS to a – "

" – Bert Leonard," Lindsay shook her finger excitedly at the picture, "One of my possibles!"

"Apparently Bert, here, had a temper – Peterson had to lay him off a few weeks ago due to multiple cases of disorderly conduct. Turns out, Bert didn't take too kindly to that – his deep credit debt might have something to do with that," Stella snapped the folder shut smugly, handing it to Lindsay.

"I smell motive," Lindsay gave a nod, looking through the packet.

Stella pulled out her cellphone, "I'll take Flack and – "

Lindsay looked up quickly, cutting Stella off, "Nah, I've got it – Danny and I can have a chat with Bert."

Stella lowered her phone, _Come on, Lindsay__…_ "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lindsay smiled reassuringly, "I just want to be the one to bring him in."

Stella didn't buy it. "Lindsay," she said warningly, "What's going on?"

"Seriously – " Lindsay began.

Stella shot her a look, "Come on – don't make me pull rank."

Lindsay bit her lip, lowering the folder to her side, as she hesitating told her, "Don lost his head with one of the teens."

Stella sighed, staying silent. She glanced down at the ground for a moment, resting her hands on her hips, _Oh Don__…_

"Stell…?"

She shook her head, looking up at Lindsay, "Don't tell, Mac."

"Of course," Lindsay glanced over her shoulder. It wasn't like Mac didn't _care _– he was their friend. It was just that he was also their boss and completely by the book. If they told Mac, he would try to have a talk with Flack and Flack had enough to deal with – Stella was a bit more understanding when it came to situations like this.

Stella shook her finger menacingly at Lindsay, "And you are _not _going to bring in a suspect – you're _pregnant._"

"And I am reminded every day," Lindsay gave a wry grin as she gestured at her stomach, "Even without you telling me."

Stella laughed slightly before she reassumed her serious pose, "_I__'__ll _go with Danny."

"Fine by me," Lindsay agreed immediately.

Stella took the folder back from her and patted her on the arm. "Do me a favor and find Don – check to see if he's alright."

Lindsay nodded, phone already in hand.

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Paulie tugged on the collar of his borrowed shirt – his own shirt had suffered greatly in a fight with the strawberries and chocolate the previous night. He looked around the room, wrinkling his nose and tapping his fingers against the table top as he waited for the officers to return…

"So, what are you thinking?" Jess crossed her arms.

Mac pursed his lips, shrugging, "I believe him."

"So you think that Paulie Freedman's innocent?" Hawkes raised an eyebrow.

Jess shook her head, "Everything leads towards this guy having done it."

"Where's the motive?" Mac waved a hand, thinking rapidly, "Paulie says he only saw the victim twice a week and that they maintained a good relationship – I'm inclined to believe him."

"Well, then we have nothing," Jess threw her hands to her sides.

"Well," Hawkes tapped his chin, "Paulie Freedman wasn't the _only _person behind the counter – any of the other workers could have had access to Ray Urwald's cup."

"What about the cyanide?" Jess frowned, "You told me yourselves that it wasn't something easy to get."

"One step at a time," Mac said patiently, "Let's take a look at the other baristas – see if we can find a connection to Paulie and Carter Freedman or Ray Urwald."


	20. Chapter 19: A Cup of Joe Part 3 & The Mo

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 19: A Cup of Joe Part 3 | The Morning After Part 4**

* * *

Stella tossed on her jacket, straightening it, as she made her way down the halls towards the elevators. She glanced towards the side as she swept her hair back – Mac glowering at his computer caught her gaze. She paused – then turning she headed towards his doorway. Stella rapped lightly on the glass, pushing the door open.

Mac looked up, his grimace smoothing out into a smile, "What's up?"

Stella shrugged, cocking her head to one side, "How's it going?"

"Slow," he admitted, leaning back in his chair, "You? – How are you doing on the Peterson case?"

"Pretty good," Stella nodded, putting a hand on her waist, "Just on my way out to talk to a possible suspect. How about you? Any leads on the coffee case?"

"We had Adam track down our best suspect but he says he didn't do it."

Stella raised her eyebrow, "I thought the evidence was good – he said he's innocent and you believed him?"

"I think he was telling the truth," Mac nodded. He gestured at the computer, "So we're back to looking for leads."

Stella made her way around his desk to look at his screen. She placed a hand on his chair, leaning over him. After a glance at the screen she turned to him with a grin, "Mac – what are you doing on _Facebook_?"

He shrugged helplessly, defensively responding, "There aren't any records that connect any of our suspects to the victim or the suspects to each other so I figured there might be something off the record."

"Facebook," Stella repeated, straightening up, with amusement dancing in her eyes still, "_You _know about Facebook." She kept up her entertained stare as she lightly sat upon the edge of his desk.

Mac gave a half-shrug, pointing at the screen as he met her smile, "Did you know that you can find out a _lot _about a person on Facebook if they don't think to limit their security settings?"

Stella snorted, unable to hold back her mirth. She shook her head, laughing, as she patted him on the cheek endearingly, "You are _adorable_, Mac." She then stood up, heading for the door, "I'll leave you to it!" She gave a wave backwards as she left.

Mac smiled after her, watching her walk towards the elevators. He gave a little shake of his head before returning to cycling through Paulie Freedman's profile photos. He absentmindedly clicked through, glancing at the contents of each photo quickly.

_Wait. _Mac clicked the mouse on the back arrow, returning to the photo he had just been on. He glanced at the picture on his creen one more before rifling through the papers on his desk, looking for the packet he had for the other baristas. Finding it, he flipped through it until he landed on the photo of one particular female barista. Mac held up the paper hoto to the screen, comparing the profile picture of Julie Ingrid, part-time barista, to the photo of Paulie kissing the cheek of a very similar looking woman.

Mac reached for his phone, punching in the numbers for a particular extension, "Hawkes? I have a lead – I'll meet you out front."

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Don coughed slightly as the smoke coursed through his windpipe. Blowing out the fumes in front of him, he lowered the cigarette as he squinted up at the sun. He gave a quiet laugh, thinking about how Jen would be throwing a fit right now – angrily tearing the offensive object from his lips and giving him a thorough talking to. _She _had been the one to forcefully take him off of the, what she liked to call, "expensive suicide sticks." He leaned on the hood of his car, sitting upon it lightly.

He knocked his head back and tiredly rubbed a hand over his eyes as he tapped the cigarette, shaking off the ashes. He knew he shouldn't be so occupied with how she was gone – _without contact _– but it just wasn't like her to not keep them in the loop… Perhaps he was being a bit obsessive – after all, it had only been a month and a half. He _was _being obsessive – he knew it. But how could he not? _This isn't like her at all…_ He rubbed the edge of his palm over his brow, sighing deeply. He tried to reason with himself as he took another drag of the cigarette, telling himself that he was being too concerned – that he was being _ridiculous – Jen's just fine – _that he was being _stupid_, _Just fine…_

_Then why didn't she cal me – Lindsay, Stella, Hawkes – _anybody_?_

Don hacked on the smoke as he was startled out of his thoughts by his beeping phone. Pulling it out, he glanced at the caller ID – _Lindsay. _He hesitated slightly before answering it, "Flack."

"_Flack?_"

He cleared his throat, resting his hand on the hood of his car, "Yeah."

"_Are you okay?_" she asked tentatively.

"Danny told you," he nodded, not surprised, "I'm good, Linds."

"_Are you sure?_" then after a slight pause she added, "_Do you want me to come out?_"

"No, don't do that," he straightened up, looking off to the side before focusing back on the ground before him. "Thanks, Linds, but you don't have to do that – I'm fine."

"_Don _- "

He cut her off quickly, "I just needed some air – I have an incoming call, it's probably dispatch."

"_Okay, I'll see you later._"

Don switched lines, pushing off of the hood. "Flack," he said automatically, bringing the cigarette to his lips. _Silence._ "Flack," he repeated, glancing quickly at the number – _Unknown Caller_.

"_Hey, Don._"

He paused, lowering the stick. He could hear her tired smile, "Jen?"

Her exhausted rasped over the airways, "_Hey, darl._"

The initial shock of hearing her voice wore off quickly. He shook the cigarette dangerously in the air as if she could see the relieved yet annoyed look he was giving the tree across the street, "You - !"

" – _I know, darl – I know,_" she cut him off quickly, her voice thick with remorse, "_I should've called – I'm sorry _– "

" – damn straight, you should have - !"

" – _I've just been so busy, but I'm almost done – I'll be home early next week._"

He snorted, "You say that now but you're going to go and talk to Mac and get another week added to your leave, aren't you?"

"_No!_" she replied defensively, "_I really _am _coming home next week._"

He continued his tone of disbelief, "Really."

"_Really_," she stressed.

"Well," he allowed himself a smile, flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with his toe, "_Good._"

He could hear her laugh floating through the earpiece and he was glad.

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Mac and Hawkes made their way back up to the lab, silently contemplating their next move in the elevator. They had attempted to track down Julia Ingrid but had turned up nothing at her work place, her house, or her sister's home. Jess had headed back to Julia's residence to wait and see if she'd turn up.

"We can get Adam to track her cell like we did for Paulie Freedman," Hawkes put forth as the doors opened.

"We could," Mac agreed, reaching for his beeping phone.

Hawkes turned, watching Mac step off to the side to get out of the way of the other employees as he answered his phone. It was a quick conversation and ended with Mac replying, "We're on our way." Hawkes gave him a questioning look, Mac just stepped back into the elevator as he waved at him to get in too. Hawkes quickly stepped in before the doors closed, "We've got a lead?"

"We have Julia Ingrid," Mac said with a slightly flabbergasted expression. Hawkes raised both eyebrows, taken aback. "Someone from the station called me to let me know that a Julia Ingrid showed up looking for Detective Sheldon Hawkes."

"Me?" Hawkes was now even more confused, "Our suspect's looking for me?"

"Apparently so," Mac pulled on his jacket and fixed his tie, "Let's go see what she has to tell you."

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Lindsay sighed as she rested for a minute in her chair. The short conversation with Flack had drained her – she hadn't known what to say and was sorry. She knew it wasn't something she could do anything about but… _Still._

She hadn't even realized what she was doing but was now listening to the dialing noise – she had punched in the numbers to call Danny.

He picked up after the first few rings, "_Hey, babe._"

"Hey, Danny," she sighed, relieved to hear his voice.

She imagined him furrowing his brow, his scruff moving with his frown, "_What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?_"

"Nothing – I'm fine, the baby's fine," she smiled fondly at his urgent concern, "I was just wondering how it was going with Bert Leonard."

"_We're just walking into the diner where he's now working…_"

Lindsay could hear Stella in the background, "_Bert Leonard?_" Then a clattering of objects hitting the floor, "_He's running - !_"

"_Got to go, babe - !_" Danny said hurriedly before the line went dead. Lindsay wasn't too worried – Danny would get the guy. She set her phone on the desk top and leaned back in her chair, playing with her hair.

Lindsay sighed, massaging her neck, as she placed a hand on her stomach. She and Danny needed to talk _seriously _about this – they hadn't _really _talked about it since she had said "no" to his marriage proposal…

At that moment her phone vibrated, rattling against the mousepad. She picked it up, opening the text message that had just arrived.

_Thanks, Linds – means a lot_.

She smiled, thankful herself that Flack had understood what she had tried to say – _I'm here. I'm a friend. I care. I'm here to help._


	21. Chapter 20: A Cup of Joe Part 4 & The Mo

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 20: A Cup of Joe Part 4 | The Morning After Part 5**

* * *

The officer met Mac and Hawkes in the entranceway, nodding his head towards the back where a few empty chairs sat. A woman was sitting in the one on the far right, hands clasped in her lap with her head bowed over them – her hair swept downwards, covering her face in a dark curtain. Mac turned to Hawkes, giving him a questioning look.

"I've got this one, Mac," Hawkes nodded, giving Mac a pat on the shoulder before heading towards the woman.

She looked up as she heard footsteps approach. Hawkes noticed that she was shaking, nervousness wracking her system. "Ms. Ingrid?" he asked.

Julie nodded, grabbing her purse off of the chair next to her. She clutched it tightly in her hands as she stood up, "Detective Hawkes..?"

He gave her a kind smile, nodding, "Yeah – I heard you wanted to speak to me?"

She bit her lip hard – the pale pink of her bottom lip blanched white. Her eyes were unfocused, she was distracted and jittery – Hawkes look at her with concern. Julie closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose – her whole body trembling with the action.

Hawkes waited patiently as she took a few breaths. When she finally opened her eyes again, she looked right at him and firmly said, "_I _killed Ray Urwald."

It was then that she lost it – the strength in her knees waned and the tears in her eyes fell.

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"Great," Danny wrinkled his nose as he dug his knee deeper into Bert Leonard's back, "Tomato soup all over my shoes!" He tightly grabbed Leonard's heavy arms, bringing them together to clasp a pair of cuffs on him. Leonard squinted as his cheek pressed harder into the liquid upon the ground. He sputtered, trying to get the tomato soup off of his lips. He had tried to run and was now in this rather compromising position, having been stopped by a busboy carting a pot of stew out of the kitchen.

Stella fought back a laugh as she watched Danny make terrible faces – he looked like an angry mutt, muttering other inaudible complaints under his breath. "Ahem," she coughed, raising an eyebrow, "You good?"

Danny looked up with a strained grin, the veins in his neck pushing against his skin, "Oh yeah – _absolutely_!" Grabbing Leonard by the collar, Danny forcefully pulled himself up – grunting from the effort.

Stella rested a hand on her hip, flashing her badge with the other, as she looked up at the very tall, very heavy black man. She pursed her lips into a pitying smile, "Bert Leonard – Detective Bonasera, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Leonard glared.

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Don had returned to his desk. Danny had called to let him know that they had a suspect – most definitely their killer – in custody. He knew that Stella and Danny had things under control. Swiftly filling out each box, he found some comfort in the monotonous task of completing paperwork – at least he didn't need to _think _about anything. Plus, he had heard her voice – _that _was something…

He straightened the papers in his hand, placing them into the folder and pushing the folder to the side with the others.

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he glanced around at the other men still hard at work – heads bent over endless stacks of streaming protocol. While the work had provided a sense of respite from _actually _energy-consuming activity, he didn't envy them in the least. He wrinkled his nose, making a dissatisfied face. Instinctively, he reached for one of the drawers in his desk – jerking it open. He didn't even glance down as he let his fingers feel for the cool, smooth surface of the photo he kept there. He found it in an instant.

Don leaned back in his chair, looking at the memento in his hand. It was from about two years ago. Jen had gone gallivanting to Washington, D.C. to help Shacks for a few days – specifically, three days – and he hadn't been too happy about it. _Why is it always when we plan to do something big that her friends decide to have their little crisises? _To make it up to him, she had taken a weekend off the first week of the next month with him. Needless to say, Don completely forgot his annoyance because of that weekend. The little photo did nothing to remind him of how peeved he _had _been, it merely reminded him of the quite fulfilling, satisfying, and fun three days that weekend had provided. The picture wasn't from anything that they did on that Friday or Saturday – Don had to smile at those memories. Giving a little shake of his head to dispel any lingering details, he set the photo down on the surface of the table.

The Don and Jen of two years ago were embracing and laughing, arms wrapped around each other with Don's lips pressed to Jen's forehead as the wind blew around them. Samantha had taken the photo and she had been in as much hysterics as them – it was a miracle that the photo had come out as clear as it had. That Sunday, Jen had tricked the two Flack siblings into taking a trip to the mountains – dragging them up the Appalachian trail. Don gave a slight chuckle, remembering that it had been one day where he had spent a good 14 hours with his sister without _any _amount of serious fighting. It was mostly because Samantha liked Jen – she behaved herself around her – _and _because Jen had given him a good shove in the side whenever he looked ready to give Samantha a good talking to.

Don found himself sighing involuntarily. He straightened up, puzzled at the myriad of emotions he was feeling and displaying. _What's wrong with me… _He was _glad _that Jen was coming home – and he was glad of hearing her voice – _and _he was considerably relieved.

But why was it that he still felt uneasy?

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Mac set the evidence back into the box – the case had been closed with Julie Ingrid's confession. The evidence was circumstantial and with her confession, everything clicked in place. He looked up as he heard a rapping on his door.

Stella held a box of her own in one hand, resting it on her hip, as she tapped the knuckles of her free hand on his glass door, "Heard you got lucky."

"Is that what they call it?" he raised his eyebrows, an amused grin spreading on his lips.

She shrugged, lightly letting the box down on his couch as she approached his desk. "Well, you're on your way out to interrogate a suspect and bam," she clapped her hands, "Suspect's ready at the station with a full confession – I think that's rather lucky, don't you?" She raised an eyebrow of her own, giving him a cheeky grin. Mac shook his head with a laugh as he shoved the box's lid on. Stella pursed her lips, expectantly shrugging, "So – why'd she do it?"

Mac looked up, an uncomplicated look upon his face, "Crime of passion."

"What did she have against the old man?" Stella looked at him confusedly, "I thought it was confirmed that he only drank coffee there."

He shook his head. "It's had to do with the barista – Paulie Freedman," he shrugged, "And his brother too."

She pulled her head back, "Sounds dramatic."

"I guess it is," Mac pursed his lips nonchalantly, "Almost soap-operatic if you ask me."

"Tell," Stella grinned as she came around the desk, setting herself on the edge comfortably, "You've got me curious."

Mac gave a world-weary sigh before he propped himself up on the desk next to her. He spread his hands apart, gesturing to demonstrate, "Paulie and Julie dated seriously for a while, then she met Carter, Paulie's brother. She broke up with Paulie for Carter, causing the two brothers to have a bit of rough time."

Stella shook her head as she gave an incredulous laugh, "You weren't kidding when you said soap-operatic – but it _is _still a bit tame."

Mac raised a finger, shaking it at her, "Well, be patient then." She grinned, nodding as she ushered him to continue with her hands. "Carter felt terrible about it and broke up with Julie."

"Oh, I see where this soap is going," Stella smiled knowingly, giving a shake of her own finger, "Julie didn't really like that, did she?"

"Not at all," Mac nodded.

"She wanted revenge – so, in her angry state, she decides to kill Paulie," Stella waved a hand as she filled in the rest, "Ironically with cyanide she stole from Carter when they dated." She looked at Mac, "What I don't get is how Ray Urwald ended up dead instead."

"Chance," Mac shrugged, "Paulie had prepared a cup of black coffee for himself a few minutes before Ray Urwald arrived. The librarian was in a hurry and was willing to take that cup of coffee which Paulie offered, on the house."

"Poor guy," Stella crossed her arms with a pinch of her lips.

Mac nodded with an accepting air, a lot of the cases that came through here revolved around chance – the CSIs had learned that anything could happen in all varieties of ways. He straightened up, lifting off of the desk. "How about you? He turned his head to the side, looking at her, "What was the motive for your killer?"

Stella frowned, "Disgruntled, _recently fired _employee." She shrugged, "Not as colorful as your motive, I'm afraid."

"But the murder itself was quite revealing – he tried to make it look like Peterson was the culprit of his wife's murder?"

"Yep," Stella gave a twitch of her nose, "Apparently, he got the idea out of a mystery-thriller book."

Mac shook his head, picking up his box, "I think that's enough drama for today."

"I agree!" Stella stood up, making her way towards the couch for her own box, "Heading to the evidence room, right?" She tossed him a look over her shoulder as she bent down for the box. He nodded, watching her as he came to stand in step with her. "Great," she gave a toss of her head to shift her hair, "Let's go."

Perhaps it was the way her khakis had stretched across her thighs when she bent over or the way her red top accentuated her modest cleavage when she lifted up the box; perhaps it was the way her eyes twinkled at him as they joked or the way she shoved him ever so lightly – or perhaps it was just because it was Stella. Whatever the reason, Mac didn't recall the thinking involved in the few moments before he spoke. "Then dinner," Mac blurted.

Stella raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. She smiled slyly, "You buying?"

"Of course," Mac grinned, pushing the door open with his back.

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Lindsay had been called out to the scene of a vendor killing. Thankfully it had been a simple scene to process and her insights had led to a speedy arrest. Danny had called her to let her know that they had Bert Leonard under lockup so she didn't need to worry about that case anymore. It was the end of her shift and she was ready to go home. She was now making her way down the sidewalk, looking to take a cab. She shoved her hands into her jacket's pockets as she stuck her neck out, standing on tip toes, to watch the oncoming traffic.

All it took was a light push from behind to shove her in the way of an approaching tan, Nissan sedan.


	22. Chapter 21: Redacted Part 3 & Heavy Part

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 21: Redacted Part 3 | Heavy Part 1**

* * *

The man was a killer – but it wasn't anything in his attitude that gave him away. He was laid back, taking an easy stance with is hands resting lightly in his pockets as he set his shoulders confidently. His simple lips curved into a good-natured smile, his dusty brown hair swept up and to the side in a manner that showcased his firm forehead. He boasted a clean, white t-shirt that smoothed over his toned chest, his well-formed arms straining with tight tendons and virile veins. The sharp pair of jeans fit flawlessly over his long legs – perfect thighs meeting perfect calves. He was a good-looking man – a healthy looking man – only in his mid-30s and with all the packaging of vigor and youth. He breathed and you could almost _see _the perfect workings of his exercised lungs – the pulsating of his powerful heart as it pumped blood through his system.

…but there was no _life _in his body.

Looking into his sharp, emerald green eyes, you could see how darkly his pupils deepened – how coldly they stared back. This man had forsaken his soul for some other purpose. It was clear; he was a man of resolve – a man of principle – a man of order. He didn't live to live, he lived to kill. His desires were obscure – did he enjoy it, did he relish it? Or did he find himself repulsive, a man of unending sin forced to live with his choice in occupation? Unanswerable questions – questions that didn't really matter in the end.

At the moment, they found themselves here – under the colossal bridge, listening to the cars race across above them.

Jen warily watched him stride across the pavement a few feet in front of her and her companion, wishing she had her gun as an insurance measure. She knew it wasn't a guarantee – having the gun, that is – but it sure would have helped, at the very least, to ease her unsettled nerves. She glanced towards the young Asian woman at her side who looked more than just a bit anxious. Jen gently touched her on the arm, giving her a thin but reassuring smile. The girl pursed her lips, playing with the sleeve of her jacket – her head nodding but her eyes screaming uncertainty and fear. Jen turned her focus to the man again, her eyes narrowing as she watched him approach. Hobbes was standing – being held back further behind the man, restrained by another burly figure who showcased a nasty, recent bruise spreading across the left side of his uninviting face. It had obviously taken a bit of effort to get Hobbes under control. Jen had to smile, her old friend was a fighter – he wouldn't have gone down so easily. Hobbes managed a small grin to shine at her across the distance even as he continued to wrestle with the guard holding him in place.

The killer reached his position, "Do you have what we asked for, Natalie?" He crossed his arms as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

The girl stepped forward slightly, nervously shoving her hands into the opposite ends of her sleeves. Jen held out her arm in front of her as she headed her off. Keeping her tone even, she let her unfaltering gaze land upon the man, "She's still only a child."

"Children fight in wars," he continued his easy smile, a condescending look falling upon his face.

Jen tightened her jaw, grinding her teeth together as she swallowed hard. It was difficult to keep calm – to keep her irritation out of ruining this exchange. This moment was precarious, she had to keep focused – too many things depended on her _focus_. The two thins at hand – right before her eyes – were her friend's life and the girl's safety.

She couldn't afford to make a mistake – she couldn't _allow _herself to make a mistake.

But looking at the man who gazed back with casual eyes and an unaffected nature, she was afraid that she had already made on.

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"Danny – Danny! I'm fine!" Lindsay waved her hands frantically, trying to calm down her furious lover. Danny was pacing erratically, muttering angrily, and forcefully gesturing at everything that moved. She sighed, turning to Stella who was standing by the bed Lindsay was currently sitting on the edge of.

Stella gave a helpless shrug, "I tried, Lindsay – he's not listening."

"But I'm _fine_!" Lindsay said exasperatedly. She jumped up to make her point, "See? Look! Danny! Look!" Danny snapped his head in her direction, watching her take a few hops.

He frowned, "Don't do that!" He strode over to her and led her back to the bed. "You just almost _died_!"

"Oh stop being so dramatic," she groaned, grabbing the pillow to hug. "You're overreacting!"

Danny's eyebrows shot towards the ceiling, "I'm _overreacting_?"

When Lindsay lost her balance, falling into the way of traffic, she had thought of everything _but _dying. Even as she saw the car hurtling resolutely down the black tar, she _couldn't _think of dying – she had three people to care about: the baby, Danny, and herself. Something in her mind shocked her system, forcing her arms and legs to move against the ground she lay on and to shove herself up against the parked van sitting next to the curb. The tan sedan had raced past her, a string of profane words streaming out of the driver's window. It was Stella and Mac who saw her teetering back onto the sidewalk. She had collapsed soon after – the adrenaline ceasing to pump. Lindsay didn't remember much else after that besides the dark insides of Mac's car and Stella's face hovering over hers and the fluorescent lights flashing by on the ceiling of the hospital halls. She had been sleeping when Danny showed up. That was 20 minutes ago – Danny was _still _frantic.

Stella cleared her throat, "I'm going to go." She sidled along the wall, watching the couple make highly dramatized faces at each other, "I'll be right back." The door clicked softly behind her.

"Danny," Lindsay sighed. "Come here." She patted the surface of the bed, "Sit."

"No," he snapped, "I'm way too worked up at the moment?"

"_Please_?" she stressed. Danny smacked his mouth shut, his jaw struggling to contain all the words he thought of saying – wanted to say – probably shouldn't say – had to say. With a severe squint, he lout a heavy breath and sat down. Lindsay rubbed the back of his shoulders, smiling softly, "I know you were worried. But I'm _fine _and the _baby's_ fine – everything's okay."

Danny gave a sigh of his own as he tore off his glasses with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. "You gave me a scare, Montana," he admitted. His voice sounded tired and he had visibly aged with fatigue over the past hour.

"Well," she rested her forehead against his arm as she teased him, "I'm glad you care."

He gave her an offended look. "Of course I do!" he said loudly as he blinked furiously, "You're my wife!"

"I feel like I missed something," Flack said with mild shock, leaning against the open door.

Stella gave a look of amused surprise from behind him, "Yeah… I feel like I missed something too."

Lindsay had snapped upright, eyes wide and bouncing back and forth between Stella and Don and Danny. "What?"

Danny put his glasses back on, giving Lindsay a stubborn look, "Well I had to _try_."

She slapped him hard across the shoulders, "_Danny_!"

"Ow!"

Flack snorted, turning away. "We can always come back later," Stella laughed, watching Danny grab Lindsay by the wrists, "Or would you rather we helped?"

"Stella!" Danny called out, leaning away from Lindsay's clawing hands. "Stop fooling around! Flack! Come on!"

Flack let out a full-blown guffaw, bending over slightly as he shook his head.

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Mac had taken it upon himself to go through everything at the scene, processing the full length of the sidewalk that Lindsay had been at. Hawkes had collected the security camera footage from the shop's front that had been behind Lindsay. This event had been no accident and the two CSIs pored over their material, trying to identify the culprit of the malicious act.

Hawkes skillfully maneuvered the mouse, zipping through the footage for the time he wanted. Slowing down, he watched Lindsay come into view on the screen. She looked around as she shoved her hands into coat pockets and approached the curb. Hawkes noticed a man arriving in the camera's view, wearing a dark colored jacket with the hood pressed firmly over his head. It was difficult to tell because of the weight of the jacket but the man seemed of large volume despite his minimal height – he stood only a few inches taller than Lindsay in her heels. He kept his head down and stepped up behind her. When Lindsay stood on tip-toe to look further down the street for an upcoming cab, the man moved and reached an arm out quickly to give her a shove. As she fell into the road, the man took off down the street in the opposite direction he had come. He bumped into a group of pedestrians, earning himself a good prod in the side with an elongated umbrella belonging to a surly, sizeable man. Hawkes grinned as he watched the man grab the jacket front of their hooded perp and look straight into his face. Pausing the video, he froze the frame and isolated the pedestrian's face – running it through facial recognition.

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Jen felt the cold, wet dirt pressing into the back of her shirt, seeping its dirty waters towards her skin. She let her head drop to the side, glancing at her flailed out right hand that reached towards Hobbes. Her fingers curled upwards instinctively, reacting to her desires to move but unable to complete the action. Hobbes lay on his stomach, his face turned away from her – his arms covering what could be seen of his head. He was so still except for the slow rise and fall of his ribs – rasping out breath. But _was _he still breathing? Jen couldn't be sure; her vision shook and she feared that she only imagined him alive. Her senses were raw, slow to react and uncertain in their interpretations. Her ears rang and she wasn't sure if what she heard was silence or if she only imagined such a thing.

_Cold._ She was cold but there wasn't much else she felt besides that. She had seen the tears on her sleeve, tinted with mud and what she suspected was blood – was it hers? Her mind continued to think but she came to no firm conclusions. It was strange – if she were hurt, then she would have felt the sharp pain – _Would I?_ But she was so completely devoid of any feelings in her body that she only noticed the small sting of her torn lip and taste of blood upon her tongue, _Have I just not realized it yet?_ Jen shut her eyes tightly, trying to calm the hectic cycle of thoughts racing through her head that had begun to throb silently.

_What am I doing here…?_

When Jen had left Washington, D.C all those years ago, she had thought that she would be able to start anew in New York – to leave behind the complicated life she had led in her hometown. _What foolish thoughts… _She knew, just as well as her former co-workers had, that she was cut out for this job. It was that same reason why she had transferred to the NYPD crime lab rather than seek out a new profession. Shacks had called her crazy but her boss had just laughed, remarking that it was just like her to do something like that. She was suddenly reminded of the 55 year old woman with the thin wire-rimmed glasses and the messy silver ponytail. Caroline Mathers had been the one to recruit Jen – she was a scary woman with the charisma to keep any high end official on his toes. The undeniable persuasiveness and youth radiating from her lively, sea-green eyes accentuated the power she commanded with her tiny five foot frame. _Oh Care… if only you could see your protégé now…_

Opening her eyes, Jen noticed a pair of dark brown ones peering into her face. She saw the lips moving rapidly and felt a pair of hands shaking her desperately.

Jen remembered – _the girl._ She lifted up her head, each hair upon her scalp weighing her down. She forced herself to roll over and pushed herself upwards. With one forceful move she snapped her head back and saw the well-built form rushing at them.

The man was returning for another round.

Jen pushed the girl back with one hand just moments before her arm met his – skin upon skin, bone upon bone. The shattering pain shot up her limb as she tumbled backwards. She didn't even take the time to breathe – she had none – and somehow jumped to her feet. He gave her a genial smile, backing away a piece to allow her room.

_He was playing with her._

Spitting the fluid in her mouth to the side, she returned his grin.

It was okay – she knew how to play.


	23. Chapter 22: Heavy Part 2

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 22: Heavy Part 2**

* * *

It had taken both Stella and Flack to convince Lindsay to go home and Danny to go to work following Lindsay's release from the hospital. Mac let Danny nowhere near the investigation of Lindsay's "accident," giving him a significant warning about getting too close. And despite his disgruntlement, Danny knew that it would be in everyone's best interest for him to keep his hands off of Lindsay's case. He had to remain focused on the work – luckily for him, this was the crime lab: there was always something to do.

Danny was helping Adam to run trace from a case that had come in just a few hours earlier. Sitting at the lab bench, Danny raised a quizzical brow as he looked at the materials that they had identified.

From the victim's shirt – engine grease, strawberry jam, mustard.

From his pen – styrofoam.

From his shoes – dog feces.

If they were to define their John Doe's last moments by the trace they had recovered, then the CSIs would have no choice but to determine that his life went about as normal that particular day. Nothing stuck out – it was all evidence without context. That is, if they _were _evidence.

However, while the vic's belongings had turned up rather dismal findings, his actual death had been one of great interest. The body had been found in an alleyway by three teenagers who received the shock of their lives when they accidentally knocked over a few trashcans, pouring out the limbs of their burnt up John Doe who currently lay on Sid Hammerback's examination table. Sid had determined that the victim had been stripped, covered in accelerant, then burned to death. He was now going through a more creative process to determine the vic's identity since the face and fingerprints had been compromised.

Danny knew that they needed more. After all, the only link between these belongings and the man in the can was that the bag that the items were found in was the only other thing in the trashcan at the time of recovery. He removed his glasses, giving a sigh.

"Do not despair – Adam is here!"

Danny cracked a smile at Adam's joking tone. He replaced his glasses upon his nose as he turned to the lab techie, "What you got, Adam?"

Adam smiled broadly, stroking his scruff with one hand as he waved a manila folder with the other, "Have I ever mentioned how much I love AFIS?"

"Don't we all," Danny replied, snatching the file out of his hand.

Adam crossed his arms and boasted a proud smile, "We've got a name."

"Yeah," Danny pored over the contents, "A name, but is it the vic's? The perp's? Some random guy?" He looked up with a frown, "It could be _any _name."

"Yeah, you're right," Adam nodded, waving his hand, "But!" he clapped his hands together, "I stopped by the M.E.'s office and Sid confirms that the fingerprint matches the name he found registered to the serial number he found on a pin in the victim's arm." He wrinkled his nose as he looked off to the side, remembering the way Sid had waved the bones at him.

Danny snapped the folder shut with a grin, "And Adam Ross strikes again."

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Hawkes noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Quickly but quietly approaching the doorway, he pulled out his glock – nodding at the other officer with him to take the other side. Hawkes lifted his finger, silently shushing the man. However, they soon forgot about the element of surprise as they were startled into motion by a gunshot from within the room. With a shout of "NYPD!", Hawkes and the officer stormed into the room with their guns drawn. There was a pounding of footsteps and they quickly ran into the kitchen to see the back of a man fleeing away from the body that sat tat the table – a bullet in his head. A quick, cursory glance at the bic's face confirmed to Hawkes that the only man who had gotten a look at the perpetrator of Lindsay's accident was now dead. The officer slid into position, lining himself with the gunman who tried to climb through the window. A clean shot to the man's thigh brought him crumpling down, tripping through the opening. Hawkes jumped out after him, landing on the fire escape next to the howling man who, having thrown his weapon off the landing into the alley, clutched at his thigh with both hands. Hawkes holstered his gun and forcefully pulled the man up by his armpits. He ignored the undoubtedly obscene words the perp hissed at him in Spanish, violently bringing the man's arms together behind his back and placing handcuffs on him. Handing the man through the window to the officer on the inside, Hawkes noticed for the first time what the man was wearing – a heavy-hooded dark jacket that looked quite similar to the one he had seen on the security feed.

_Thank god for stupid criminals._

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Danny had heard the call for backup on the police radio – at the location that he was already headed to, at the location that he had discovered Hawkes was already at. It seemed that their vics were related – brothers: twins, in fact. Hawkes had the murderer of _Rob _Benson in custody; perhaps the perp would be able to answer some questions about the murder of _Clyde _Benson.

They had started this case with only a name – it seemed that things were looking up.

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Mac and Stella watched Flack and Hawkes circle around their recently patched up perp. Danny had begged to be allowed to interrogate Aaron Chavez but was firmly turned down by Mac. It _had _been Chavez who had shoved Lindsay – he had made no attempt to hide the fact. There could be no mistakes and so Danny had been sent back to the lab.

"So," Hawkes sat down again, facing Chavez with an open expression, "I get it – Rob Benson saw your face. You couldn't take the chance that he'd report you so you shot him." He spread hi hands, shrugging, "Sounds reasonable to me."

Chavez leaned forward with a smug grin, "Doesn't it?"

"But why so late, Aaron?" Hawkes glanced down at the papers to check the times, before meeting his eyes again, "You waited a good eight hours before you went for Rob Benson, why?"

"He was hard to find," Chavez shrugged disinterestedly.

"No," Hawkes shut the folder as he shook his head and gave a knowing smile, "I don't think so."

Don came around to Chavez's side, sitting on the metal surface of the table, "You see, I think I know what happened." Chavez looked up, leaning back in his chair as he kept his face bland and indifferent. Don gave him a friendly grin, clasping his hands in his crossed lap, "I think you found 'Rob Benson' quite _quickly _but how were you to know that he had a twin brother." He shrugged, "It's okay – they were identical, could've fooled anyone."

"Somehow, you realized you killed the wrong Benson," Hawkes got up, sliding the headshot of Clyde Benson, "So you went back and finished the job – and that's when I found you."

Chavez sat up, clearing his throat as he quickly shook his head. He waved his hand irregularly, "I didn't kill that one." He tapped the photo of Clyde, before shoving it away.

Hawkes raised an eyebrow, pulling out the autopsy photo of Rob, "Does this one look familiar?"

Chavez looked, pulling the photo closer with one finger. He gave a nod and looked up at Hawkes, "Yep – that's the one. Shot the guy – burning ain't my style."

"We didn't tell you that Clyde was burned to death," Don said, fixing his cuff. "How'd you know that?"

A shot of panic widened Aaron Chavez's eyes. "You – I heard… some cops talkin' bout it," Chavez stuttered, looking from Flack to Hawkes.

"Come on, Aaron," Hawkes smiled agreeably, "I believe you – you didn't kill Clyde." Hawkes returned to his seat as Don stood up, "But you know who _did _kill him."

"I didn't even know there was another one!" Chavez gestured at the photos with both his hands, "I just took a while to find the bastard!"

Don crossed his arms, giving him an unconvinced look, "Come on, Chavez – do these eyes look like they're amused?"

"You're in pretty deep, Aaron," Hawkes pursed his lips, giving a jerk of his shoulders, "Who do you think the jury is more likely to believe – you or me?"

Don leaned on the table with both hands, bringing his face closer to Chavez's, "Who killed Clyde, Chavez? Or better yet – who put you up to scaring Detective Monroe?"

"I know nothing," Chavez licked his lips, tightening his arms across his chest. "_Nothing_," he repeated, meeting Don's eyes. "I shoved the bitch and I shot the guy – _that's it_."

"Who put you up to it, Aaron?" Hawkes tapped the table with his finger, drawing Chavez's attention, "Who wanted to hurt Detective Monroe?"

Chavez shook his head, grimly pursing his lips, "I already screwed up twice in the past two days – I ain't tellin' you _anything_."

"Oh, did you?" Don raised his eyebrows with mild interest.

"Fine," Hawkes stood up, picking up the folder. "We'll just have to dig a little deeper."


	24. Chapter 23: Heavy Part 3

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 23: Heavy Part 3**

* * *

Lindsay slid the photos closer towards her, looking at the photos of Aaron Chavez and three other men. Hawkes watched as she shook her head, lifting her head with no recognition in her eyes, "I don't know any of them."

Hawkes nodded, "Okay," he opened the folder he was holding, placing it in front of her, "How about these guys – recognize any of them?"

Lindsay pursed her lips, biting her lower lip as she pored over the photos in the file. Hispanic faces, all of middle age, smirked arrogantly up at her. She noticed particular things about each face – a unique scar here, a specific squint there – but she didn't find any of the features, as a whole, familiar. She shook her head again, giving Hawkes an apologetic smile, "Sorry, Hawkes – but no."

He pressed his lips together, forming an understanding smile, "It's okay." He leaned over, flipping the folder to the back and revealing an enlarged photo of a man's head, "Just one more – recognize him?"

Lindsay looked. She saw the haughty curl of the man's chapped lips and the interesting curve of his broke nose set in rough, deeply tanned skin that stretched over sharp cheek bones. A flicker of something made its way through her gut but it wasn't until she saw the eyes that she could pin the feeling to a particular emotion – unsettlement. She recognized the man. The dark, watery eye, set beneath busy, extended eyebrows, stared right back at her- exuding all the ease and certitude that Howard Moreno had boasted throughout the investigation and interrogation and even as he was being sentenced to prison for the next 25 years of his life.

"_Know what, detective?" Moreno shrugged, giving Lindsay a kind smile, "I ought to thank you!"_

_She stood up, collecting the files strewn across the table, and raised a brow, "Why's that?"_

"_I've never been to prison," he waved his hand, laughing jovially, "It'll make for an interesting vacation spot!"_

_Lindsay didn't know what to say to that. With mild astonishment, she responded, "You're welcome."_

_Moreno just nodded agreeably, "Thank you very much, again!"_

_Lindsay shook her head as she waved in the uniforms. Crossing her arms, she watched them handcuff Moreno and lead him away._

"_Enjoy your stay."_

"Lindsay?"

She looked up, meeting Hawkes's curious gaze. "Yeah," she nodded, glancing down at the picture again, "I recognize him."

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"Howard Moreno, a leader of the Tijuana drug cartel – he oversaw the cartel's drug activity in the northeastern part of the United States," Don reported, glancing from Mac to Lindsay, "We had a nice chat."

"I was the one who collected the evidence against him," Lindsay explained, looking up from the couch she sat at. "That was years ago though…"

"Still," Mac came out from behind his desk, "There is plenty of motive for him to be behind your attack – Chavez and the others we apprehended have had no reservations about admitting to their association with the cartel or with the deaths."

"No, Mac," Don shook his head, straightening up, "I don't think Moreno is behind it at all."

Mac's eyebrows twitched upwards, "Why do you say that?"

Don crossed his arms, thinking about how Moreno had handled their talk, "He says he didn't do it and he seemed genuinely surprised when he heard that some of his boys had been caught messing around with Lindsay."

"Then are we just looking at an isolated incident?" Lindsay mused out loud, "I mean, that would mean that the cartel's not after me – which is a good thing."

"I think Chavez and his amigos are just a bunch of fanatics," Don shrugged, "It took a couple minutes for Moreno to put faces to the names I gave him. It seems that Chavez was quite low on the totem pole."

Mac tapped his chin, "Did we hear back from the psychologists?"

"Um," Don reached for his notepad, flipping it open. He quickly swiped through, glancing at his notes, "I stopped by to have a chat with them after they were done with Chavez and they kept using the words, 'socially and mentally incompetent.'" He looked up with an amused smirk, "And he also gave up a couple names for Clyde Benson's murder – he seemed to have completely forgotten that he had said that he wasn't going to say anything."

"Yeah," Hawkes slid through the door, frowning, "_Or _he just wanted me to work my ass off for no reason."

Don stifled another grin as Mac took the file Hawkes offered, "What am I looking at?"

"Remember that bag we recovered at the dump site?" Hawkes held his hands parallel, moving them to make his point. "Danny had a chat with the suspects Chavez gave up in his heart to heart with the psychologists – one of the guys claimed the bag as his own."

"Did they confess to the crime?" Lindsay asked.

Hawkes nodded, obviously tired of the case already, "These guys are either really high or really obtuse – the only story that they could agree on was that they murdered Clyde Benson."

"Well," Lindsay stood up, rubbing her neck tiredly, "Sounds like case closed to me."

"If only all criminals were this stupid," Don remarked.

"I would _resign_," Hawkes said distastefully. Mac chuckled.

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"Hey, Moreno!"

He looked up to see Randy, one of the prison guards, waving a book at him. He hopped off the bench, walking towards him, "What you got for me?"'

"One of the boys down at the library told me to bring this to you," Randy shrugged, handing the book over.

Randy was well-liked – the Irish officer was easy-going and treated them fairly. He was relatively new to the prison business, having done only low-level security at local business, and had had a couple run-ins with the uppers for being "too nice."

Moreno gave him a jaunty salute, giving him a friendly pat on the arm, "Thanks, officer."

Howard Moreno was actually enjoying his stay in jail. He didn't need to do any thinking and the other inmates kept away knowing his history. _If only the food was a little better… _He sat back down on the bench, turning the book over in his hands. It was a plain, ivory book, only an inch thick. He gave a little frown, noticing that it didn't have any distinctive markings on it identifying the title or the author or even the publishing company. He shrugged, opening the book to the first page. _Empty. _He kept turning. _Empty… empty… empty… _He held the book by the edges of the pages and ran the pages between his fingers quickly, attempting a quick look through to see if there was _anything _in the book.

There was.

Moreno raised a puzzled brow as he pulled out the envelope that had been sitting between two of the later pages. He raised it to the lights, noticing the outline of a piece of paper within. Lowering the envelope, he impatiently tore it open – curious.

Unfolding the letter, he noticed the many lines of tiny writing. He brought the paper closer to his face and read.

Howard Moreno looked up with alarm. He folded the letter and haphazardly shoved it back into the book, leaping up to search for Randy.


	25. Chapter 24: Restricted Part 1

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 24: Restricted Part 1**

* * *

Rachel didn't take relationships seriously and that was fine by Hector. It was fine by _all _the boys she "dated." She was in it for the sex and all she needed was an able-bodied male that fit her likes and dislikes. It was a hobby – stress relief. She didn't want the complications of the thinking and emotion attached to actually _caring _about her partner. She liked to have sex and she liked to get creative – her parents called it self-destructive, she called it fun.

So it wasn't so strange for her to be out here in the alley, behind her family's shop, with Hector. She let loose a little giggle as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He slammed her back into the brick wall, crushing her lips with his. Her fingers entwined in his curls, pulling him deeper into the embrace. He had lost his shirt when they tripped through the door and into the alleyway and his pants lay around his ankles. She leaned back suddenly to pull her cotton t-shirt over her head. As she smiled at him, leaning down again to find his lips, she was startled by a noise further down the path.

Rachel straightened up, releasing his body and landing softly on the ground.

"What is it?" Hector sighed, pulling up his pants. She shushed him with one hand as she held her shirt in front of her with the other.

"Paulie!" she called, seeking out her younger brother, "I know you're there!"

No reply.

"Your baby brother? _Again_?" Hector slapped a hand to his forehead, "Tell him to get a girlfriend if he's so curious!"

Rachel made a face at her partner as she pulled on her shirt. "Paulie!" she called out again, stamping her foot. "Come out! I know it's you!"

There was a faint squealing noise coming from the darkness.

Hector came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. He squinted, trying to make out the short form, "You sure that's Paulie?" He gave her a quizzical look, "Looks too short to be him."

She bit her lip in puzzlement, looking up at him, "Doesn't it look like some guy sitting in a chair…?"

He squinted again, trying to focus on the figure, "Yeah… it kinda does…"

At that moment, there was a loud squeal and grinding of gravel as the figure rushed out into the light.

Hector leapt back in horror and Rachel let loose a scream.

The figure _had _been sitting down – a man duck-taped to a rusty wheelchair, his body covered in coagulated blood and his sightless eyes reaching towards the heavens.

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Mac pushed through the crowd that had formed at the alley's entrance, ducking under the tape that Don lifted for him.

"Flack," Mac nodded.

Don gave a nod back, moving in step with him, "Vic's name is Timothy Horton, 34 year old school teacher from Baltimore, Maryland."

Mac shot him a confused look, "Tourist?"

"Lover," Don corrected grimly, "He was visiting his girlfriend."

Mac caught sight of Stella taking photos of the body and the direct area where he sat. it was a gruesome sight. There was so much blood – Mac doubted that it was all his.

Danny ran up to them from further down, waving his camera, "I've got footprints near the start of the wheelchair tracks leading off in the opposite direction along with some tire tracks – thinking dump job." He gave a nod to Don who greeted him before turning away to answer his phone.

"It probably happened within the past half hour," Jess said as she jogged up to them. She waved her notepad in the direction of two teenagers, "Happy pants over there says that he remembers seeing a car drive away when he and his girlfriend came out in the alley for some dirty business, then remembers seeing a figure run away after the wheelchair rolled out into the light."

Mac watched the kids animatedly continue their story to another officer. "They look like they're barely 15," he shook his head.

"They turned 16 last week," Jess pursed her lips.

Stella made her way towards them as EMS removed the body from the scene. "I guess no one mentioned that the guy was dead in the 9-1-1 call," she shrugged. "The bus has kindly agreed to drop off the body at the M.E.'s office."

Don waved his phone as he strode towards them, "We've located Horton's girlfriend, I'm heading over there to talk with her."

"I'll go with you," Jess offered. Don looked towards Mac who nodded at the two of them before turning to the CSIs.

"Danny, I want you to head to the M.E.'s office – see what Sid finds."

"Got it, boss," Danny saluted before heading towards the police line.

Mac turned to Stella, "You and I will run trace from the scene – "

" – I call the wheelchair," she said quickly.

Mac grinned at her eagerness, "You _did _beat me to the scene."

"So I get first pick – wheelchair. Mine." Stella smiled, winking impishly as she returned to the wheelchair with her case in hand.

Mac shook his head with a quiet laugh, snapping on his flashlight.

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"No, I have no idea," Natalie Jacbos shook her head, her face fixated in a look of shock, "I have no idea who would _do _such a thing to Tim – he was a _school teacher_."

Jess gently patted her on the wrist, giving her a sympathetic nod, "I understand."

"Did Mr. Horton mention who he was meeting with before he left four days ago?" Don asked carefully.

"Yes," she nodded, the tears starting to collect in her eyes, "He mentioned that he was meeting Natalie, the older sister of one of his students – he used to tutor her. She had come up to New York to do some sightseeing and he wanted to meet with her."

Don leaned over, handing her the box of tissues that lay on the set of drawers that he was standing next to, "Did he mention a last name?"

Natalie took the tissues, clutching one in her hands as she shut her eyes. She gave a shake of her head, trying to remember, Lei – Li… Lang… L-something."

"Did you ever meet this Natalie?" Jess added.

Natalie opened her eyes, nodding, "Yes, Tim had her come over for dinner the day before he left."

"Was Mr. Horton staying with you during his stay in New York?" Don questioned.

"No," Natalie gave a shake of her head, dabbing her eyes with the tissue, "He stayed at the Royalton."

"Thank you," Don nodded, turning as he punched in some numbers into his phone.

Jess took out her notebook, "Could you please describe what Natalie loked like? What color hair – what color eyes – was she tall or short – was she Asian, Black, Hispanic – any details."

"Um," Natalie cleared her throat, sniffing, "She was Asian – I couldn't tell you exactly which country."

"That's fine," Jess gave an encouraging smile, "Go on."

"Mm," she sighed, biting her lip, "Dark brown eyes… long, dark brown hair – it looked almost black… very full lips – she had a nice smile, her left cheek dimpled when she did…"

"When you say 'long,' about how long?" Jess motioned to her own hair, "As long as mine or shoulder-length – maybe even longer?"

Natalie pursed her lips, staring at Jess's hair, "A little longer than yours."

"What about her height?" Jess prompted.

Natalie thought about it for a moment, then eyeing Jess she replied, "About your height."

"Okay – "

" – Jess," Don called, he nodded at Natalie, "Sorry, it'll just be a minute." Meeting Jess's eyes, he said meaningfully, "Could I talk to you for a second?"

Jess smiled apologetically at Natalie, "Excuse me."

She got up, following Don as he moved a little bit away from Natalie Jacobs. She gave him an inquisitive glance to which he replied, "I just talked to the manager of the Royalton," he continued in a low whisper, "Timothy Horton's room's been trashed. I talked to Mac and he's sending Hawkes to the scene – I'm heading over there now, are you good here?"

Jess nodded, glancing over her shoulder at Natalie. "Yeah," she looked back at him, "I should be done soon."

"'Kay," he gave her a thin smile, "I'll see you later then."

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Danny winced involuntarily as he saw the state the body was in. Timothy Horton was in bad shape, bruises and cuts all over his body. It was as if –

"He got into one hell of a fight," Sid said grimly, putting on his glasses and crossing his arms.

Danny nodded at the body, "What happened to him?"

"He was beaten," Sid pursed his lips, moving in on the body, "Quite brutally, I'm afraid." He motioned at various portions of the body, "Defensive bruising, contact bruising – torn skin from rocks, fists, and other objects." He straightened up, bringing up some scans. Gesturing at the displays, he continued, "Fracturing of the right tibia and fibula, left ulna and radius, broken fingers – and COD." He brought up an in-depth look of the man's chest, "Broken ribs, punctured his lungs then he bled out."

Danny shook his head, cringing, "What the hell happened to this guy?"

Sid sighed, removing his glasses, "I don't know, but he died quite painfully."

"Do you have anything for me?"

"I sent the clothes to Lindsay and Adam in trace," Sid reached for a couple petri dishes lying in the cart next to him. He handed them to Danny, "I found dermal tissue under his nails, a foreign hair on his neck , and this." Sid took up a small translucent packet, showing the opening to Danny.

"A syringe?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Found it stuck in his thigh," Sid shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine."


	26. Chapter 25: Restricted Part 2

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 25: Restricted Part 2**

* * *

Stella pinched her lips as she waited for AFIS to give her some answers. The first couple prints she had scanned through came back as matches to their dead victim, which came as no surprise, but this one that she had just scanned in was taking some time…

She glanced up at the wheelchair, a feeling of uneasiness taking rest in her stomach. There had been so much blood dried in the crevices of the black leather and spokes of the wheels. It had made a rather horrific sight, an object worthy of the eerie genres people liked to be freaked out by. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about the wheelchair…

"It's kinda creepy – "

" – shit!" Stella gave a shuddering sigh, leaning against the table as she slapped a hand to her chest. She turned her gaze upon the man who had just startled her, "Adam!"

"Sorry – sorry!" he waved his hands, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she straightened up with a deep breath. She pushed her hair back, "I'm fine. God, a little warning would've been nice!"

"Sorrrryyyyy," Adam winced, biting his teeth. However, his look of guilt quickly evaporated into a look of surprise of his own, "I think this is the first time I've seriously startled you."

"A fact that we will quickly forget," Stella said crossing her arms.

"Forgotten!" Adam nodded quickly.

She sighed, smiling, "What have you got?"

"I ran the blood samples you got off of the wheelchair," Adam looked down at the folder in his hand, leafing to the page, "Most of them matched back to the vic but there was one that came back to a – "

Stella had noticed the AFIS search come to a stop on her screen, "Nicolo Vorto?"

Adam looked up with a mask of astonishment, "How did you…?"

Stella just smiled and pointed at the hawk-nosed man scowling on her computer.

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"Ms. Chan," Don looked up from his notepad, "What – "

" – Chelsea," she smiled tightly, "You can call me Chelsea."

Don had spoken to the managers and the staff already but the young Chinese woman had been the only guest on the floor.

"Okay, Chelsea," Don nodded, "What's your business in New York?"

"Holiday," she replied, watching the officers pace outside the door right across from hers. She played with a strand of her hair as she continued, "Just visiting friends at NYU."

Don checked his notes, "And you're from Baltimore?" She nodded in response. "Did you happen to hear anything – "

" – I'm sorry," she bit her lip, glancing at the room across again, "When do you think that they'll be done?"

Don glanced over his shoulder at Hawkes who was making his way through the debris. He shrugged, "It'll probably be a couple hours at the least."

"Ah," Chelsea bit her lip again.

Don noticed that she was very fidgety, bouncing on the balls of her feet and twisting her hair. He also noticed that she was very pale, light perspiration coating her forehead. He furrowed his brows, "Are you okay, Chelsea?"

She nodded readily, pressing her lips into a smile, "Yes, I'm fine – just," she swallowed, "Just a little sick – I ate something rather unsettling earlier."

"Would you like to sit down?" Don asked gesturing towards the chair that sat out in the hall.

"No," she waved her hand, "I'm fine." She sighed, giving another smile, "You were saying?"

Don gave her a careful look before continuing, "Did you happen to hear or see anything out of the ordinary yesterday evening or this morning?"

"I stayed in my room and didn't see anything," she shook her head. She winced, "But, I did hear furniture knocking around along with both male and female noises."

"What kind of noises?"

Her chees colored slightly, "I thought it was sex – rather rough sex."

"So you heard two people?"

She thought about it for a moment, "No… I think 3 or 4? There was one woman but there were multiple male voices."

"Did you hear anything else?"

"The ruckus went on for about 10 minutes before I heard the crashing of glass," Chelsea pursed her lips, "Then the slamming of a door."

Don frowned, "Why didn't you report the incident?"

Chelsea grimaced, shrugging, "I thought it was loud enough that someone else would have heard and reported it."

"Of course," Don gave a knowing nod. _Always expecting other people to report the mess… _"Was there - ?"

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. He snatched it up, glancing at the caller ID, as he nodded towards Chelsea Chan, "Excuse me."

She waved him on and he turned away to answer, "Flack."

He glanced behind to look at Chelsea. He noticed that she was looking over her own shoulder, as if she was communicating with someone in the room. He turned back around, listening for a reply, "Hello?"

"_Don? It's Shacks, Eames Shacks._"

Don frowned, wrinkling his eyebrows together, "_Shacks_? What…?"

He turned when he heard the click of a door shutting – Chelsea had retreated into her room.

"_I'm coming to New York – can we meet?_"

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Lindsay looked over Danny's shoulder with great interest, "What's that?" The complex structure of the molecule on the screen led to the certain conclusion that it was an engineered product.

Danny wrinkled his nose as he shoved his glasses up higher, "Federal drugs."

"What?" Lindsay pulled her head back, raising an eyebrow.

Danny gestured at the syringe laying under the magnifying lens, "The syringe – I swabbed it to find out what our teacher was shooting up."

"And you got _that_," Lindsay pointed at the molecule.

"Yep," Danny pressed his lips together, "It's rather strange."

"Why? What is it?"

"Federal drugs," Danny repeated.

Lindsay rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I heard you the first time – but what _is _it?"

"A new type of artificial adrenaline," Danny turned to the next monitor, bringing up a few articles, "Developed by the United States government – military scientists – for our armed forces.

Lindsay frowned, "The article says that it's still being tested as of a month ago, what's our vic doing with it?"

"I have _no _idea," Danny gave a twitch of his nose, "But somehow I don't think he got it down at the local RiteAid."

"Maybe the syringe didn't belong to him? It could've belonged to his attacker and used as a weapon – in large scale fights, people tend to grab whatever comes to hand," Lindsay suggested, "It wasn't in the tox report, was it?"

"No, it wasn't – and yes, I thought about that," Danny nodded his head, rubbing his scruff.

Lindsay smiled, "But…?"

"But," he gestured at the articles, "One of the perks of this drug is that it is undetectable when it's injected."

"Great," Lindsay put a hand to her hip, "Well, is there any way to track the distribution of known samples of this drug?"

"Classified," Danny shrugged with a grimace, "I realized that an NYPD detective's clearance is quite limited when it comes to investigating military-grade drugs."

"That's some high-clearance sarcasm," Lindsay shoved him lightly with a laugh. "Did you tell Mac, yet?"

"No," Danny pushed back his chair, standing up, "Was just on my way."

"Right," she raised a disbelieving brow, "I'm sure."

"Take care of your package," Danny waved her away, gesturing at the lab tech, waiting to hand Lindsay a folder, before scampering off.

Lindsay shook her head with amusement on her face as she took the folder in hand, "Thank you."

The woman nodded, an entertained smile upon her lips before heading off.

Lindsay opened the file, rifling through the pages she had had printed for her concerning the blood samples taken from the victim's clothing. She paused upon the third sample, taken aback by the name that was printed on the sheet. Her eyes moved rapidly, she used her finger to scan the document again. She furrowed her brows confusedly, "That can't be right…"

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Jess strode down the hall, meeting Mac who had been on his way to the elevators.

He nodded at her, "Did you get anything from Natalie Jacobs?"

"A name – another Natalie," Jess stood at ease, her notepad open in her hand, "Natalie Jacobs says that our vic was going out to meet this Natalie when she saw him last."

"No last name?"

Jess shook her head, pursing her lips, "Jacobs was unable to provide, she said it was 'L-something' and gave Lei, Li, and Lang as possibilities."

"What's her relation to our vic?" Mac raised an eyebrow.

"He used to tutor her when she was in high school," Jess glanced down at her notes, "She now attends the University of Baltimore, Jacobs said that she looked about 23 or 24."

Mac frowned, wrapping his arms across his chest, "Anything else?"

"Just a description," Jess shrugged, "I was just on my way to call the university to see if I can look into the class rosters and find a 'Natalie L.'"

Mac tapped his finger against his chin as he gave a nod, "Okay – " He broke off as his phone rang.

"I'm going to go," Jess gestured down the hall.

Mac gave another nod before swiping his phone off his belt. Turning away, he answered automatically, "Taylor."

"_Is this Detective Mac Taylor of the New York City Police Department Crime Lab?_"

"Yes," Mac furrowed his brow at the authoritative tone, "Who is this?"

"_Assistant Director Deborah Fields, FBI. I believe you have one of my agents._"


	27. Chapter 26: Restricted Part 3

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 26: Restricted Part 3**

* * *

Hawkes noticed Stella and Lindsay poring over a folder with serious expressions. He jogged up to them, "I heard you had a name!"

"Nicolo Vorto," Stella nodded, showing him the print out. "His blood was on both the wheelchair and the vic's shirt."

Hawkes waved his own packet, "I found his _hair _in Horton's hotel room."

"That's good – it looks like Vorto's our killer," Lindsay nodded at the both of them, "He probably snatched Horton from his room and took him somewhere else to beat him to death."

"_One _of them," Stella shook her head, "According to the witnesses we have at least two perps – the driver of the car and the guy who ran away," she reminded them, crossing her arms.

"Well," Hawkes looked down at his papers, flipping to the next page, "I found two other hair samples in the room, matching back to a Netia Asmik and Cooper Pennington."

"Any link to our vic or Vorto?" Stella raised an eyebrow.

"Netia and Nicolo were arrested in California, five years ago, for the murder of Taylor Paine, CEO of EN Exports." Hawkes provided, "They escaped custody in transit. They were supposedly killed in Berlin two years ago."

"Well, obviously death didn't really work out for them," Stella pursed her lips.

Hawkes shrugged, licking his lips, "Well, no bodies were actually recovered and the _FBI _is still looking for them."

Lindsay blinked in confusion, "What in the world did Timothy Horton get himself _into_?" She gestured at the folders, "These guys are obviously dangerous criminals – what does a high school _math _teacher have to do with any of these people?"

"I'm wondering the same exact thing," Hawkes frowned, showing them the printout for the third name, "Cooper Pennington is a known contract killer and on Interpol's most wanted list."

Stella ran a hand through her hair, her eyes wide with bewilderment, "This case is getting out of hand – "

" – Stella!"

The CSIs looked up to see Mac waving at them from his office door, "Yeah, Mac?" Stella called back.

"Could I speak to you for a second?" Mac rubbed his neck, looking quite grave.

"Yeah – be right there!" Stella nodded. Mac retreated back into his office and Stella turned to the CSIs, "Lindsay, run by DNA and see if they have the results for the dermal tissues and foreign female hair they found on our vic." Lindsay gave a nod before rushing off, "Hawkes, find Don and see if you can locate – "

" – Vorto?"

They looked down the hall at Flack who was striding towards them. He shook his head, "I tracked Horton's missing car and found Nicolo Vorto – he crossed into Jersey a few hours ago. The vehicle was abandoned shortly after. Jersey PD has so kindly offered to tow the car back for us."

Stella retracted her head with surprise, "That's nice of them."

Flack raised his hands, "Don't ask me why but Jersey's being quite cooperative."

"We'll try to locate Asmik and Pennington," Hawkes waved at Stella, pointing in the direction of Mac's office, "_You _probably should go."

"Right," Stella nodded with a grin, rushing off, "Going."

Hawkes turned to Flack, "Did we get anything off of the hotel security footage?"

Flack wrinkled his nose, shaking his head, "The security system went offline 24 hours ago – they have nothing."

Hawkes rubbed his face with one hand, "What in the world…"

"Did you find anything else with your science kit?" Flack raised an eyebrow.

"Not really," Hawkes sighed, "Hair, blood, and a whole lot of broken furniture – I can only tell you that there was a fight in that room and there were four people involved."

"Huh," Flack scratched the back of his neck, "That matches my witness's statement."

"We had a witness?" Hawkes raised an eyebrow.

"Just one," Flack gave a sniff, "There was only one other room that was occupied at the time – college girl, Chelsea Chan."

"What'd she say?"

"Heard a ruckus, smash of glass, then a door slam," Flack gave a shrug, "She never left the room."

Hawkes gave a mystified squint, "Wait – _glass_?"

"Yeah," Flack glanced at his notes to make sure, "Glass."

Hawkes crossed his arms, "But there was no broken glass in the room."

Flack paused, thinking back to his encounter with the girl. When she had turned in the doorway, he had gotten a glimpse of the inside of _her _room. "Was there a coffee table in Horton's room?" he asked, meeting eyes with Hawkes.

"Yeah," Hawkes nodded, "It was in pieces in the bedroom but it was there."

Flack's face widened into a look of realization, "It was wooden, right?"

"Yeah?" Hawkes gave a confused smile. "Are you getting to a point, Flack?"

Flack waved his notepad, "Chelsea Chan's room had a _glass _coffee table – she _assumed _that the room we were searching would have the same table."

"So you're saying – "

" – Chelsea lied," Flack frowned.

"Hey guys!" Lindsay had returned with another folder, "Is Stella still talking to Mac?"

"That was quick," Hawkes raised an eyebrow.

"Danny had picked up the results already," Lindsay shrugged. She smiled, "We have another lead – dermal tissue came back to Nicolo Vorto but the hair matches a Chelsea Chan."

Hawkes turned to Flack, "Well that confirms it."

"She wasn't _sick_," Flack shook his finger, "She was _nervous_."

Lindsay looked at the two men with curiosity, "Care to share guys?"

"First we have to run," Flack punched numbers into his phone as he turned away, "She probably checked out already."

"I'll go with you," Hawkes nodded, picking up his step. He looked over his shoulder, "Text me the address, Lindsay! I'll call to explain."


	28. Chapter 27: Restricted Part 4

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 27: Restricted Part 4**

* * *

Stella knocked on Mac's door, striding in, "Mac, before you tell me what you have to say – I have something to tell you."

Mac nodded, his eyebrows raised, "I'm listening."

Stella moved forward, quickly closing the gap between her and Mac's desk. She flipped open the folder in her hand, showing the contents to Mac, "Lindsay ran the blood from Timothy Horton's shirt and it came back to multiple sources." She swept past the pages for their vic and for Nicolo Vorto, landing on a page printed with a familiar name, "_Jen's _blood was on the shirt." She anxiously gritted her teeth, brow furrowed, waiting for Mac to react.

Mac pressed his lips together more tightly, looking at the DNA report, "I'm not surprised."

Stella looked at Mac with widened eyes, "You know something?"

"No," he shook his head as he pointed his finger towards the computer, "But the name Natalie Jacobs provided – 'Natalie L' – came back as a Natalie Lin. Jess accessed the University of Baltimore student ID records and the photo on file for Natalie Lin is _this_."

Stella moved behind Mac's desk, coming to stand next to him. She looked on the screen, meeting eyes with a pair of familiar, dark brown eyes. _Jen _is _Natalie Lin…?_ She looked up, utter confusion etched in her expression, "_What _is going on, Mac?"

Mac shrugged, rubbing his brow with one hand, "I'm not sure, Stella… but this case has become complicated."

She stepped back a pace, hugging her arms loosely, "It's not just Jen's involvement, is it?" She pursed her lips, searching his face, "What else is there?"

Mac bit his lip, closing out of the windows on the screen before straightening up. He met Stella's gaze, gravity in his eyes, "I was contacted by the FBI Assistant Director in Charge of the Washington Field Office."

Stella let her arms drop to her sides, her face awash with bewilderment, "Timothy Horton isn't a teacher – is he?"

"He's not even 'Timothy Horton,'" Mac gave a sigh, "The FBI is taking over this investigation."

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"Lindsay."

Lindsay looked up from the computer she had been intently staring at, reading up on Chelsea Chan. She smiled as she met eyes with Stella, "Hey!" She got up from her stool, making her way around the tables, "I was just about to go and interrupt – " Lindsay paused, noticing the strange look Stella was giving her, "Are you alright?"

Stella rolled her lips into her mouth, pressing down hard upon them, as she looked around, "Where's Flack and Hawkes?"

"They just went out to follow up on a new lead," Lindsay said slowly. She reached out and put a hand on the other woman's arm, "Stella – are you okay?"

Stella gave a slight shake of her head, letting out a deep breath, "Call them back."

"'Call them back?'" Lindsay was now completely confused, "Stella, what's going on?"

Stella closed her eyes for a brief moment before answering her, "Jurisdiction's changed – this investigation is no longer ours."

Lindsay shook her head, baffled, "If not CSI then whose?"

Stella glanced around quickly, scanning the room, before meeting Lindsay's gaze again, "FBI – Mac's been told to back off."

"'FBI,'" Lindsay repeated in a tone of disbelief. Then as if a thought just occurred to her, she urgently added in a lowered tone, "Does Jen have something to do with this?"

"I'm not sure," Stella gave a helpless shrug, "But we _did _find her DNA – her blood – on the vic's clothes…"

Lindsay rubbed a hand over her mouth, _Oh Jen… what have you gotten yourself into…?_

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"Yeah… okay… okay… yeah…"

Flack glanced over at Hawkes who sat in the passenger's seat next to him, "What'd Lindsay say?"

Hawkes put his phone away, "Told us to turn around."

"What?" Flack looked at him with a confounded expression.

Hawkes gave a confused shrug, "I don't know – apparently jurisdiction has changed and we're supposed to keep our hands off."

"But this is a good lead," Flack frowned, focusing on the cats that they were sweeping by, "We should still follow through."

"Lindsay said to turn around _now_," Hawkes pursed his lips, "I don't like it either but Lindsay says Mac wants to talk to us."

Flack carefully sped past a bus, taking a left, and slightly slowing down. "So… turn around," he stated, asking for confirmation.

"Turn around," Hawkes nodded.

Flack leaned forward slightly and flicked the switch on the siren, turning t off.

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Stella kept her arms crossed, staring at the woman who had just entered Mac's office. The 5'7" woman looked about 46 and stood with a rigid, rather proud, poise. Her immaculate, white button-down met with a perfect, black pencil skirt that both seemed to have been starched to withstand any amount of movement – the hour and half flight hadn't done any damage. Her shoes authoritatively clacked across the floor, her feet covered in neatly polished black pumps. She proudly wore a silver beaded necklace, showcasing her FBI shield on her chest. Holding her jacket on her arm, she seemed to have popped out of some handbook. The two men who flagged her were in equally tidy outfits, their black suits differing only by the maker of the suits and the color of their accompanying ties. One was over six feet and of fair complexion, displaying a good-natured expression. The other was about five feet and of coarse features, a self-assured half-grin gracing his lips. The woman swept her perfectly set, long blonde hair to one side as she nodded at Mac, "Deborah Fields." She gestured to the two men standing a bit behind at both sides, "Special Agent Johnson and Special Agent Harper." 'Six feet' and 'five feet' gave a nod at their respective times.

"Detective Mac Taylor," Mac nodded and gestured to his assistant supervisor, "And this is Detective Stella Bonasera."

Deborah Fields glanced towards Stella for the first time, giving her a sharp nod before turning her gaze back to Mac, "I will be brief." She motioned for Special Agent Johnson to come forward. The tall man placed a briefcase on Mac's desk before stepping back. "Normally we would take over and work independently. However, I would like to ask for the assistance of the NYPD crime lab for this investigation," Fields continued, "You probably have already discovered a reason as to why we were being quite forward in our association."

"Jennifer Lee," Mac offered, glancing up as he snapped the case open.

"Yes," Fields nodded, "However, while the man you have in your morgue at the moment is FBI, Agent Lee is not. In the briefcase you will find classified files concerning an open FBI-CIA joint operation that Special Agent Hobbes and Agent Lee were taking part in."

Stella stepped forward, waving slightly to get the woman's attention, "Is Jen an _active _agent?"

Fields turned to her, her lips pressed into a thin line, "No." She continued in a slightly apologetic tone, "She was officially benched the year she was hired by this crime lab. However, I requested her handler to bring her in for this particular job – she fit the role perfectly."

"So she wasn't lying when she said she was doing a favor," Stella looked off to the side.

Fields noticed her slightly bitter tone and coldly stated, "Detective Bonasera, it was _Agent Lee _who made the vow to protect this country – she knew what was expected of her when she joined the CIA."

"Of course," Stella gave a tight smile.

"I assume that you want to keep this pretty quiet," Mac cleared his throat, snapping the briefcase closed and drawing the attention of the two women.

"Yes," Fields turned once more towards Mac, "Everything must stay within my team and your team – need-to-know basis. Should you require more man power – for example, if we are to need more officers to take part in a raid, they will be told that they are apprehending a criminal and nothing more."

"Of course," Mac nodded. He tapped the top of the briefcase, "Is this all information that can be shared?"

"With your team," Fields said firmly, "Only those within the direct team and no one else. I assume that you will be working with Detective Bonasera here along with Detectives Dannny Messer, Lindsay Monroe, Sheldon Hawkes, Jessica Angell, and Donald Flack, Jr.?"

If Mac was surprised at the specificity, he made no sign. "Yes," he replied shortly.

Fields nodded, glancing down as she stepped closer to his desk. She glanced up, flashing her hazel eyes directly at Mac, "May I suggest a certain degree of _caution _when concerning Detective Flack."

"He's a fine detective," Mac responded simply, his gaze hardening into a contest.

"I'm sure," Fields gave a small smile, "However, considering his relationship with Agent Lee, we can't be too careful."

"Of course," Mac nodded agreeably, "However, I trust Don to do his job – and to do it well."

"Of course," Fields nodded, her smile wavering for a second. She motioned one of her men forward, "Harper."

"We will require a closed area for us to set up," Special Agent Harper nodded, stepping forward, "Other agents should be arriving shortly."

"Adam Ross will assist you," Mac nodded at Stella who left to find Adam, "In the meantime, it would be polite of you to answer some questions of my own."

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Jess ran up the stairs, meeting Lindsay at the top, "What's going on?"

"Mac needs to talk to us," Lindsay shrugged, "He's still talking to the FBI at the moment though."

Jess's eyebrows shot towards the ceiling, "FBI? What does the FBI want with our school teacher?"

"That's just it," Lindsay winced, "He _is _FBI."

"Oh," Jess let out, "Well, this has just gotten rather complicated."

"I'll say," Lindsay sighed, opening the door to the conference room for the both of them.

Hawkes and Flack arrived shortly after, pushing through with confused expressions.

"Can we please know what's going on now?" Hawkes asked, settling into a chair.

Flack crossed his arms, jabbing a thumb over one shoulder, "Anyone want to tell me why a federal car is sitting out front?"

Lindsay raised her hands defensively, "Let's just keep calm and wait for Mac and Stella."

"Hey guys," Danny poked his head through the door, "What's going on?"

"No idea," Flack frowned, sweeping his arms out into a wide shrug.

Danny raised an eyebrow, taking a seat, "So what are we doing?"

Jess leaned her elbow upon the arm of the chair, pressing her face into the back of her hand. "_Waiting_," she answered.


	29. Chapter 28: Restricted Part 5

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 28: Restricted Part 5**

* * *

Adam had seen the well-suited men and women heading to an empty conference room on one of the floors, a few of them stopping by the lab with boxes of evidence. They looked like federal agents so even though he and most of the lab had no idea what was going on, there was no doubt that something _was _going on. At the moment, Adam was more focused on the new task that had been placed upon him. A broken laptop had been recovered as well and he was supposed to see if he could salvage the hardware. Adam had taken it with quite the astonished look – it had been hit with something that blew a hole in the middle of the laptop, searing through the plastic and wiring, and no one seemed to be able to explain, or knew, exactly what had happened to it.

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_Adam took the box from Mac, looking down at the contents. His head snapped back up, pointing two wide eyes at his boss, "What the - ?"_

"_Can you try and see if you can recover anything?" Mac crossed his arms, glancing at the melted plastic._

"_This thing – this – this laptop is _fried_! It's like black, _burnt _toast – kind of – fried!" Adam stuttered shifting the weight of the box on his one arm as he gestured at it with the other. _

_Mac raised an eyebrow, "So you can't do anything with it?"_

"_No!" Adam shook his head furiously, standing up straight, "When did I say that?"_

"_Good," Mac smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "Let me know what you find." Mac strode away, heading back towards the elevators. _

_Adam stared after Mac for a few moments before he scurried to his work space._

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Lindsay looked through the boxes, scanning the evidence that had been brought to them – clothing, scraps of paper, and a side bag. She pulled out the clothes, clearing the table to do her processing. Danny grinned at her as he took the side bag and took a spot across from her. Lindsay bent down over the sweater, giving the article of clothing a quick look over before she began. Glancing up she paused for a moment when she noticed Stella striding past the glass.

She remembered the look Stella had shot her earlier, the warning edge glinting from the green of her eyes: _Don't say anything._

It was obvious that Mac and Stella did not want to advertise the fact that Jen was very much a part of this case.

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"_No description?" Flack raised an eyebrow, a bewildered smile on his lips, "I mean, a _real _description besides 'young female.'"_

_Mac shrugged, keeping his expression open, "Name, Chelsea Chan; age 21; height 5'6"; long, dark brown hair; slender, athletic build – that's what they're giving us and that should be enough to differentiate the captive from her two _male _captors."_

_Lindsay sat in silence, carefully watching Flack as she listened to Mac toss his conclusive answer. Flack pursed his lips as he gave a sharp nod before he looked away to the side, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin with his finger._

_Perhaps it was because Lindsay knew why, but Mac's actions seemed too terse and defensive – like he was making an effort to hide information from them, from Flack. She realized that to the others it would just seem like Mac was a bit perturbed by the FBI's involvement – he had always had a little trouble with authority, after all, and they were all familiar with that._

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Mac frowned, going through the files from the briefcase again. His fingers brushed against the papers, frustratingly pushing them back into the folder. He was not too pleased about the FBI taking over the investigation – waiting for cues had never been his forte. However, what bothered him the most about the situation was being unable to tell his CSIs more about the situation.

Stella and he had made the decision – while he had vouched for Don in front of Fields, he knew that it would be in everyone's best interests to keep Don – and in turn, everyone else – in the dark about Jen's involvement. It was safer that way.

It was also according to the wishes of the FBI that only a select few knew about Jen's involvement. Mac frowned. He could pretend that the decision about divulging that particular bit of information had been up to him but it was actually the request of assistant Director Fields – and Jen's CIA handler who remained nameless still – that they keep silent. At the moment, that meant that only the FBI, Mac, Stella, and Lindsay even knew that Jen was one of two captured women.

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_Fields had re-entered the office after taking her urgent phone call. Mac frowned at the change of plans._

"_I trust them to take the news with utmost professionalism," Mac insisted._

_Fields smiled tightly, shaking her head, "I'm sorry but you will have to keep Agent Lee's involvement between you and your Assistant Supervisor Detective Bonasera."_

"_Lindsay Monroe was the one who made the discovery of Jen's blood on our vic's shirt," Stella crossed her arms, "She already knows."_

"_Fields looked over at her, giving a nod, "Well, then it is necessary to keep this information amongst the three of you."_

"_Why is it so important that we keep it a secret?" Stella raised an eyebrow, "Wouldn't it be in everyone's best interest to be on the lookout for _two _hostages?"_

"_This is a request from the Director of the FBI and the Director of the CIA as well as myself and Agent Lee's handler," Fields said firmly, "You are only to reveal that we have _a _captive, Chelsea Chan." She paused a moment before continuing, "It would also be best to not refer to them as 'hostages' since no demands have been made – we're approaching this as we would a kidnapping."_

"Request" she says_, Stella pursed her lips, watching the woman turn back to Mac, _She means "_direct order_."

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Mac glanced up at the woman sitting on his couch. Stella had set up post there, folders strewn across the leather next to her. She had had a perpetual frown fixed upon her lips ever since –

"Do you really not like her?" Mac asked, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

"Huh?" Stella looked up, lowering the packet in her hand, "What are you talking about, Mac?"

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. He shrugged, "Deborah Fields."

Stella gave him a highly affronted look, "Uh, I never said I didn't like her."

"You sort of did," Mac scratched his nose, looking up at the ceiling, "Earlier when we briefed the team."

Stella ran a hand through her hair, looking off to the side for a moment. "Oh – ah!" Stella raised a finger, shaking it at Mac, "I said I didn't like _it _not _her_."

Mac looked over at her, the smile still on his face, "It was implied."

Stella sniffed, tossing the packet on top of the other papers on the couch, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I was there when you met her, remember?" Mac raised an eyebrow.

Stella coughed, getting to her feet, "I'm getting coffee – want some?"

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"_Okay," Danny sat up, scooting his chair closer to the table. He held his palms up in a shrug, "It sounds to me that they don't really _want _our help but are just making a big show of it because they want to look like good guys by making us," he swept a hand around the room before slapping it to his chest, "Us, little guys, feel better about ourselves."_

"_Hear, hear," Jess said dryly, raising an eyebrow, "Didn't they bring in their own detectives and CSIs?"_

_Stella gave a broad smile as she came up behind Danny, smacking him on the back with an open hand, "Oh come on, Danny." She gave a shrug herself, leaning against the edge of the table, "They want our _help _–__ they just don't want to give up what they know."_

_Danny looked over at her, giving her an exaggerated and late single syllable of "Ow." Mac grinned, shaking his head at his partner, "Stella, please."_

"_Sorry, Mac," Stella straightened up, crossing her arms. She pursed her lips, "I just – I don't like it."_

_Mac gave them all a very serious look. "Neither do I," he admitted, "But they are giving us a great deal of responsibility – "_

" – surprisingly_,"__ Stella interjected, moving back to Mac's side._

_Mac let out an amused grin and continued, "All of the evidence that they have recovered will pass through us – whatever we discover will be passed on to Assistant Director Fields and the FBI will make a move according to our processing."_

_Hawkes stood up, grinning, "That sounds like a reprimand to me – 'go work and do it properly.'"_

_Mac smiled, "How observant of you, Dr. Hawkes."_

"_Ah," Danny stood up, giving a mocking bow to Hawkes, "The good doctor proves himself yet again!"_

"_Okay," Mac laughed, "Danny, Hawkes, and Lindsay – Special Agents Harper and Johnson should be swinging by the lap soon with evidence for you guys, might want to go meet them."_

"_Sounds good, Mac," Lindsay nodded with a smile as she herded Hawkes and Danny out with her._

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Don lit a cigarette, knocking his head back against the seat's cushion. Special Agent Johnson looked over at him from the passenger's seat, his attention having been drawn by the noise of the car's window lowering. Don shifted slightly, looking back at Johnson. He raised an eyebrow, holding the box out towards him, "Want one?"

Johnson shook his head with a small smile, "I barely got weaned off of those a month ago – not taking any chances."

Don shrugged, pocketing his pack, as he exhaled out the window. He glanced down at his watch – they had been sitting in his car for the past 30 minutes, waiting for cues from the heads, since their return from the convenience store. They had been ordered to be ready to check out any new leads that they were gifted with.

Waiting was the dreariest part of the job.

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_Don glanced through the windows at the few people who were filling up their cars with gas at the stations._

"_So, you're positive that it was _this _woman," Johnson asked again, holding up the photo of Chelsea Chan._

_The man behind the counter nodded fervently, wiping the sweat off of his brow with a dirty handkerchief, "That's her – she bought a few things then left."_

"_Was she alone?" Don asked carefully meeting the man's eyes._

_The man fidgeted under his gaze, looking off to the side as he answered, "No – there was a man with her."_

"_Sir," Don tapped the counter as he leaned upon it, "Please look at us when we're talking to you."_

_The man gave a nervous smile as he looked up, "Sorry, I've never been good with official people."_

_Don raised his eyebrows as he glanced over at Johnson who took over, "Was it either of these two men?"_

_The man squinted at the two photos Johnson offered, "I think, think it was this one." He tapped the photo of Cooper Pennington._

"_You _think_?" Don tilted his head slightly, watching the man, "You don't know?"_

_The man raised his arms defensively, "I didn't get a good look at him because he was wearing a baseball cap with a hood over it but I got a glimpse of his face when he called for the girl to hurry up – it was this guy." He tapped the photo again._

"_How did you know to call the police?" Johnson questioned._

"_I-I don't know," the man glanced between the two men, "The guy had his back to us – the girl and me – for a moment. The girl came up to ring up her items and grabbed my hand, mouthing 'Help' as she glanced towards the man with her eyes. There just seemed to be something _off _about the two…"_

_Don straightened up, "Did you happen to get the license place of their car?"_

_The man shook his head, "They didn't leave in a car – they walked."_

_Don raised his eyebrows again, "Did you see which way they went?"_

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Don and Johnson had worked their way up the street, trying to see if they could find any clues as to where Chelsea Chan and Cooper Pennington went off to. They headed back to the station when they discovered that the two had been picked up by an unmarked, white van the people, who had tipped them off, had been unable to recall a license plate number.

Don frowned, looking at the cigarette in his hand. He had only taken a few puffs but already felt guilty – as always, smoking had brought up an image of Jen reprimanding him. He dropped the burning stick into his cup of cold coffee and brushed off his hands.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Don looked towards Johnson with a raised eyebrow, "Huh?"

"A girlfriend," Johnson repeated, giving a shrug.

Don cleared his throat, taking a sip of his water bottle, "Do you?" He watched Johnson glance towards his left hand – at a gold band.

"Wife," Johnson nodded, looking up with a smile, "We got married last year, a month after her birthday."

"Congratulations," Don gave the man a polite smile. He blinked a few times, looking away, before he followed up with another reply, "How'd you meet?"

"A case," Johnson laughed, "She's a cryptographer for the NSA."

"Oh," Don nodded slowly, "Interesting."

"So," Johnson took up his own water bottle, untwisting the cap, "Do you?"

Don pursed his lips, giving another slow nod, "Yes – I do."

"NYPD?"

"Yeah," Don gave a half-grin, glancing out the window, "CSI."

"What's her name?"

"Jen – Jennifer," Don looked back at Johnson who gave him a peculiar look. He raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

Johnson shook his head, smiling, "Nothing – it's just…" He nodded, gesturing slightly with his hands, "Uh – that my wife's name – it's _Jenny_."

"Oh – there are all sorts of coincidences, aren't there?" Don gave a small laugh.

"There sure are," Johnson agreed. He added, "How long have you been dating?"

Don glanced down at his hands, twisting a wrist in a hand, "About… about four years?"

"Wow," Johnson raised his eyebrows, "Good for you!"

"Yeah," Don grinned, "Good for me."

They were spared from furthering the awkward conversation due to Johnson's phone going off.


	30. Chapter 29: Redacted Part 4 & Restricted

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 29: Redacted Part 4 | Restricted Part 6**

* * *

Jen swallowed hard, her eyes fluttering open. She didn't know how long she had been out this time but she had awoken in yet another location – it looked like an unfinished building. She realized she was laying on the hard concrete, her face pressing into the cool cement. She twisted her crossed arms behind her back in a vain effort to loosen the speed rope wrapped tightly around her wrists. The uneven edges of the worn vinyl tore into her skin, digging into her many lacerations – the dried blood breaking and bringing forth fresh fluids. Attempting to move made her realize that more speed rope held her ankles and knees together – she let out a small gasp, the wounds and bruises from earlier washing her body with pain as she tried to move.

"Jen."

A hushed whisper from above her prompted her to force her head to turn, looking up at the source – Chelsea.

Jen winced, lifting her head slightly. "_Natalie_," she reminded the girl, whispering though dried lips.

Chelsea pursed her lips, her brow furrowing with deep concern. "Okay," she whispered back, "But Natalie – "

Jen cut her off, groaning, "Help me up." Chelsea quickly scanned the surrounding area then Jen's body, her hands hovering – wondering how to go about it. Jen noticed and drew her attention, "Just grab my shoulders – pull me up." She rolled slightly, opening her hands and pressing them into the ground.

"But – "

"Just do it."

Jen gritted her teeth at the fresh agony that wracked her body as Chelsea took her by the shoulders, supporting her neck, and helped her sit up. Chelsea helped her slide, bringing her to rest against a concrete column. Jen knocked her head against the pillar, closing her eyes tightly and letting out a long hiss of breath.

"Are they going to kill us?"

Jen forced her eyes open, giving a slight shake of her head. She forced a smile, "Don't be stupid."

"But – "

"They need _me _because they think I have something that they want and they need _you _because they think you're my favorite cousin – they need you as leverage against me," she reassured, _They won't hurt you – yet. _It was obvious that Pennington and Vorto wouldn't kill her – they completely believed in "Natalie Lin" – and they wouldn't harm Chelsea until they needed to make a point to her.

"But," Chelsea bit her lip, "You don't."

Jen gave a half-grin, "But they don't know that, do they?"

"But – so how – "

Jen shushed her, "Don't worry – I still have some tricks up my sleeve." She forced her muscles to move, giving another pained smile, "You and I have been through worse before – I _will _get you out of this."

"I don't know about _worse_," Chelsea looked at her with wide eyes, exasperated at Jen's seeming calm, "Just look at you!"

"Can't really do that, can i?" Jen adopted a teasing manner, shifting her weight. She wriggled her toes slightly, looking over at Chelsea, "I'm a bit tied up at the moment – got a mirror?"

"You're crazy," Chelsea shook her head with a laugh of disbelief. But Chelsea had seemed to take some comfort in Jen's words despite the current states the two were in. she settled down next to her, leaning against the column as Jen glanced up at the tall ceiling, biting back a sigh – _tick tock. _

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Adam wrapped his arms across his chest, apprehensively waiting for Mac to finish looking over what he had recovered. The laptop had been beaten pretty badly – dropped, smashed, and burned, it had been a difficult task trying to piece together much of anything. However, Adam, being the modest genius that he is, had managed to recover some documents and some other rather intriguing files.

Though he knew he probably had no business poking around and actually looking through the contents of the files, Adam had taken a look – reasoning with himself that since they had handed him the laptop to fix, he could take a peek or two. There were a lot of things that just didn't make sense out of context but there were a few files that were obviously from high-end government agencies such as the CIA and NSA with a severe amount of redaction done to them. Other files were megabytes upon megabytes of computer code that he only knew was the work of some really smart, really skilled computer scientist and blueprints for newfangled weapons that looked positively sci-fi – and there was some more…

Mac glanced up, a grim expression set on his face, before continuing to scan the items on his screen, "Thank you, Adam."

_The man's in on the loop but I don't think he knows what the hell the spooks are doing… _"Yeah," Adam nodded, nibbling his thumb, "No problem." He didn't move from his spot.

Mac looked up again, raising an eyebrow, "Adam?"

"Oh," Adam let loose a nervous laugh, "Right – going." He rushed out, throwing a tense, inquisitive look over his shoulder at Mac who reached for his landline.

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"You and I _both _know that you're not going to use that gun," Jen watched Cooper Pennington carefully, glancing at the Walther P99 semi-automatic held loosely in his hand, "You don't like guns."

"I don't," Pennington agreed, pulling the gun back to glance at its side, "But it _is _quite handy." He straightened his hold, pointing the gun at Chelsea – taking aim at her upper arm and pulling the trigger. Chelsea let out a shrill scream into Vorto's hand, tightly clamped over her mouth. The bullet had grazed her, coming to rest in the concrete wall behind them, but it had left a nasty gash on her shoulder – Chelsea had never been too good with pain in the best of times. "See?" Pennington walked up to the back of the van, taking a seat next to her on the ledge of the van's doors. He patted her on the left thigh, running the hot muzzle of the gun against the inner lining of her jeans on her right thigh. "Come on, Natalie – work with me here."

Jen met his gaze readily, a faint smile on her lips, "I _am _working with you – is it my fault that you lot aren't skilled enough to do your own parts?"

Pennington pressed his lips into a fine line, quickly raising his arm to bring the butt of the gun across her head. The blow was enough to knock her off the car, forcing her to land hard upon her side on the ground. Jen spat out the dirt that had crept into her lips.

"Oh Natalie, Natalie," Pennington shook his head, crouching down behind her. He ran the flat side of his combat knife across her cheek, "Let's be reasonable." He lifted the knife, moving it to her wrists – cutting her bindings.

Jen pulled her arms forward, giving her hands a few good stretches before pushing herself up with them, "It's true – isn't it, Cooper?" She tossed a glance towards Nicolo Vorto, "His girlfriend screwed up – what am _I _supposed to do about that?"

Pennington glanced up, meeting eyes with Vorto who gave him a grimace. He frowned, "True."

"I took care of it," Vorto rolled his eyes, "Remember?"

"Yes," Pennington stood up, tilting his head slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Vorto, "You killed her, tossed her off the bridge – didn't really make anything better though."

"So, what?" Vorto snapped, "We can – "

He didn't get a chance to see anything further – Pennington had swiftly raised his arm, landing a bullet in Vorto's forehead. Chelsea let loose a scream as Vorto's limp body fell away from hers. She froze – her eyes wide and swifly shifting from Vorto's body to Jen's face to the gun. Pennington looked down at Jen, "What the hell is she doing?" Jen's wary look morphed into one of bewilderment. The man turned to Chelsea, shaking his gun at her, "Uh, _run_."

Chelsea gave Jen a confused look, questioning her. Jen gave a slow nod and Chelsea turned, sprinting towards the elevator. Pennington switched the safety on the gun and stuck it in his belt as he turned back to her.

"Now," he gave her a friendly smile, "Where were we?"

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Deborah Fields gave a heavy sigh as she set the phone back in its bed.

"_Taylor?_"

Deborah turned to the tall monitor sitting upon her desk, meeting the sharp blue eyes resting behind circular wire frames. She sniffed, pursing her lips, "Yeah – we're going to have to give him _something _soon, Caroline." She shrugged helplessly, "Otherwise, he's going to keep pushing and prodding until he finds out himself – we'd have no control over anything then."

Resting her elbows against her desk in D.C., Caroline Mathers rubbed the back of her neck as she swept her silver ponytail to one side. "_Well, I did warn you about him_," she frowned, "_There's a reason why Jen likes that man._"

"Yeah," Deborah rolled her eyes, "Just means that he's a pain in the ass to deal with."

Caroline gave a smirk, straightening up in her chair, "_Sounds like you're having fun, Debbie._"

"Hah, hah," Deborah wrinkled her nose, "Are you coming up here?"

"_No,_" Caroline shook her head, "_I have _both _our directors breathing down my neck to keep my fat ass here in D.C. to take care of that business in North Korea._"

"Ah," Deborah smiled sympathetically, "My apologies."

Caroline shook her hand dismissively, "_I'm sending Eames Shacks – he told me that he forwarded you some information from Jen before he got on his flight._"

"Yeah," Deborah glanced down at her handheld, sweeping to the message from the man. She looked back up at the screen, "How did he get that?"

"_The idiots let Jen near a computer,_" Caroline shook her head, "_She's not quite the trickster Chelsea Chan is but she knows her way around technology – particularly hidden servers. She shot Shacks an S.O.S and he was able to track her location._"

"I sent out the boys," Deborah nodded, glancing over her shoulder, "No word form them yet."

"_I'm betting they've moved locations by now._"

"Wouldn't be surprised," Deborah agreed, watching Caroline speak to someone off camera. She cleared her throat.

Caroline looked back at her, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Thought you might want to know," Deborah crossed her arms, "Shacks is planning to meet Donald Flack, Jr. – I'm betting that he's going to tell him."

"Listening in on phone calls, Deborah?" Caroline tutted.

"Oh, _come on_," Deborah scoffed.

"_Yeah, yeah,_" Caroline laughed, "_But why were you listening in on Don Flack?_"

"I thought it would be obvious – Jen, of course," Deborah replied matter-of-factly.

"_Don't worry,_" Caroline shrugged, "_I gave him the okay. After all, after this op I'm _officially _retiring Jen._"

Deborah coughed, speaking carefully, "You seem quite certain that – "

" – '_that Jen's going to make it through?'_" Caroline completed for her. She continued briskly, "_Of course, I am – she's my Jen. She'll make it._"

"Of course," Deborah nodded. She licked her lips, leaning forward on her desk, "Well, can you tell him to hold off until we actually make contact with Agent Lee?"

"_Well, _obviously_,_" Caroline scratched her cheek, "_I was a part of that ruling behind the 'let's-shut-up-about-Jen' policy, if you don't remember._"

"Right," Deborah shook her head with a smile, "See you have all the angles covered as usual, Caroline."

"_That's my job,_" Caroline winked, "_We'll talk again soon._"


	31. Chapter 30: Restricted Part 7 & Redacted

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 30: Restricted Part 7 | Redacted Part 5**

* * *

Chelsea wrapped her arms around herself more tightly, slouching within the thick cotton sweater that had been placed about her shoulders. The white letter printed in gray over her left breast boldly read "FBI." Her eyes moved rapidly around the large room at the suited men and women swiftly packing boxes of paper and technology equipment – the Bureau was moving out.

After Cooper Pennington had let her go, Chelsea had run into the first establishment with open doors to call the number she had been trained to memorize. A pair of special agents had shown up immediately, escorting her to the crime lab and particular floor the FBI had made temporary headquarters. A five minute conversation was all it took for Assistant Director Fields to make her decision – "an acceptable loss."

Jen had been declared "_an acceptable loss_."

"But - !" Chelsea had attempted.

Fields had turned her head away, turning to her aides, "Get the director on the line."

"Assistant Director Fields - !"

The middle-aged woman had paid no attention as she snapped out some more prompt commands that sent the rest scurrying before she strode away herself and Chelsea had sat back down in her chair in shock.

…_I can't be one of them._

Chelsea had only been 12 when she ran her first computer heist – allocating funds from the Bank of London to pay for an infinite supply of concert tickets and boy band paraphernalia. A young girl with a genius for writing codes and a high affinity for loud music, stuffed animals, and pretty boys, Chelsea Chan was quite the terrifying little virtuoso. Smart, capable, and naïve – she had taken her gift in stride, not understanding but not questioning. She was also quite blessed with a terrific amount of luck – she had gotten away with hopping around various international bank accounts for a year before she was flagged by the U.S. government. The NSA had shown interest in her case; however, her style was declared too uncouth, too rough and too wild to be considered of use to them – too feisty to ever be honed to the level of grace and eloquence they so preferred. The FBI, however, had found that same coarse, unrefined edge of hers enticing and had taken her in to train her as their "tech consultant" – a new role for a new era, making her one of their pawns in the growing front of the digital age.

Life as the FBI's hidden chip was quite simple – attend school and show up to work. Chelsea had attended the prestigious Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology for three years, having been accepted shortly before her unofficial recruitment to the FBI. She had graduated early following a series of unfortunate incidents at the end of her junior year, including a time when she may or may not have set off various alarms and the sprinklers during a high-profile event (the President and his wife had been present). The FBI had taken care of the situation and kept her at headquarters in her office after that, hiring tutors to complete her high school education – her handlers had sighed that it was the easiest way. In that way, Chelsea spent 4 years generating codes for various uses in different operations – uses that she and the personnel assigned to her had no idea about. However, that all changed when she turned 17 and she met the head of the CIA's Clandestine Operations division, Caroline Mathers. With this meeting she entered the big leagues – placing her within the FBI permanently.

Four years ago, a formidable digital presence emerged, calling himself "Dexter" – a hacker with no bounds. "Dexter" had been under watch due to his prolific escapades tapping various world banks and intelligence databases – he busied himself to the extent of being an annoyance but never a threat. Then one rather ordinary day, he collapsed the CIA and FBI networks, making it possible for him to unveil covert operations and agents to the public, then captured the NSA's top cryptographers – his motives unclear. Through some base investigation, the CIA was able to identify "Dexter" as Michael Fox, Jr., the son of the Chicago-based prosthetic limb tycoon Michael Fox, Sr. For quite some time he went off-grid, making no demands and leaving much to the imagination as to what he was planning. The government wasted no time – no news most certainly meant bad news and they needed to take care of this embarrassing situation right away. Needing a field operative with both the ability to perform in the field exceptionally and to pull off major computer schemes; the FBI and the CIA decided upon a joint operation, bringing together the digital expertise of Chelsea Chan with the field experience of Caroline Mathers's Beta special task force. Requiring a breath of estrogen, considering that their hacker was female, Jennifer was called out of her half-retirement since the only other female member of the Beta force was currently occupied in an overseas operation in Brussels. The agencies brought the two females together and it was then that "Natalie Lin" was born.

Following their success in the Dexter operation, Jennifer and Chelsea teamed up again four more times in the next two years; four long weekends that Jennifer would spend in D.C. "helping" an old friend. However, all of these "NatLin" operations, including the very first one with Dexter, had been routine, office jobs that required only a little script writing here and a little bone-breaking action there. All of the other operations were "Lin" operations, only requiring Chelsea's presence to deal with the business from behind the computer screen. The fourth time Jennifer had come down to D.C., Caroline had stressed that this operation would be the last for her. However, after coaxing Jen back into the field again, they found themselves here, this time in New York, with a routine "NatLin" operation that had gotten out of hand.

Chelsea had been with the FBI for eight years but she was still very much a civilian, still very much a child. She had known that there had been lives lost in the operations that she provided her skills for in the past; however, she had never realized so starkly, so personally. Jennifer was more than a name printed in a confidential file – she had been Chelsea's colleague; she had been her friend. Chelsea admonished herself, shaking her head furiously, at her use of the past tense – Jen was not dead yet.

Chelsea was disgusted; she knew, if only in part, how much Jen had invested in serving her country – and here they were, calculating her as another affordable statistic. It wasn't right.

And Chelsea realized that it had probably happened many times before.

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Jen had wasted no time in letting Pennington know his mistake. He still looked at her with curious eyes, perplexed by her new attitude.

"Oh Cooper," she laughed quietly, shaking her head, "You have no idea just how thankful I am for your arrogance."

The man raised an eyebrow, _What is this woman saying?_

Jen continued on, pushing herself to her feet, "You really thought that you had all the right answers." The faint smile still danced across her lips, a new sparkle hinted in her brown eyes.

Pennington was confused – this woman was rather different from the one before. She looked the same as the woman he had fought and kept captive but she had a different air about her – she had a more determined stance; her words more biting, her smile more daring. He almost expected her to reach under her chin – to tear off a mask and to reveal a completely different person within. For the first time since he had begun this job, he had a flicker of doubt as to whether or not he had made the right decision.

"What are you talking about, Natalie?"

She ignored him, looking off to the side for a moment, "It really is a pity, considering that I was actually worried that you might have won."

He was beginning to get irritated. "Natalie – " he warned.

She gave a genuine smile then, the brightness of her expression taking him by surprise. "'Natalie,'" she repeated, "'Natalie…'" She shook her head, giving a shrug, "Sorry – wrong girl."

The words didn't register properly. The smug smile and confident look she shone at him were what relly drop the message home. He froze – it was as if he had been smacked by a ten year old. This was wrong – how could have made a mistake? "Stop fooling around," he said evenly, attempting to show a semblance of calm.

"Sorry, Cooper," she shrugged, "Trul."

He couldn't be wrong – impossible. But the witch continued her smile and he knew that she wasn't bluffing. He angrily raised the gun at his side, letting loose two furious bullets.

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Mac was livid.

" – the FBI thanks you for your cooperation but – "

" – just like that?" Mac's voice was a low, dangerous rumble, "_That's it?_"

Deborah Fields frowned, inwardly intimidated by the solemn man's anger, "Detective Taylor, I am just as devastated – "

" – bullshit!" Mac slammed an open hand against his desk. Fields gave an involuntary wince at the sharp sound.

"Detective Taylor," she fumed, "This behavior is highly unprofessional - !"

" – Jen is still alive," Mac enunciated, each syllable filled with unbridled menace, "How can you just pretend - ?!"

She had had enough.

" – I have my orders!" Fields raised her voice over his, forcefully gaining the command of the conversation. She slapped the file in her hand upon his desk and continued in a quieter tone, "And you have yours."

Mac forcefully pulled the folder open, "What is this?"

"What is expected of you and this crime lab."

Mac quickly scanned the packet, each word only fueling his fury. He snapped his gaze upon Fields, violently tossing the papers to the side, "No." He pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single, cutting shake of his head as he repeated the word, "_No_."

Fields lifted her chin, standing even straighter. She spoke carefully but full of certainty, "I am afraid that you have no choice."


	32. Chapter 31: Restricted Part 8

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 31: Restricted Part 8**

* * *

Lindsay nervously bit her thumb. She took this stance often with her right hand fisted tightly in front of her mouth, resting an arm across her swelling belly with the other's elbow propped upon it. Though they hadn't been informed yet, it was obvious what was happening. Accomplishing the recovery of their asset, the FBI was leaving – leaving for D.C. and leaving behind Jen. Lindsay had no doubt that Jen was in trouble somewhere and, though everyone was trying to hide Jen's association with the current situation, there was no doubt that the FBI was partly responsible. After all, hadn't she heard Chelsea Chan utter Jen's name? It was by chance, Lindsay was running some results to another part of the lab when she saw Chelsea Chan being escorted to the conference room the FBI had taken over. In her shell-shocked state, the girl had been urgently telling the agents escorting her that someone – anyone – needed to go help Jen.

It was why Lindsay had finally told Don.

"_One of the blood samples… belonged to Jen."_

She had been unable to say anything more.

She had carefully watched the man, seeing how he maintained a serious mask of calm but also feeling the anguish that resonated from his blue eyes. She had apologized desperately and he had given his thanks quietly, quickly striding towards the elevators.

Lindsay could only imagine that pain of uncertainty.

"Linds?"

She turned to face Danny, dropping her arms to her sides. Without a word, she moved towards him and pressed herself into his embrace.

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Hawkes frowned, taking in the results of Sid's autopsy. Nicolo Vorto had died instantly – a clean head shot from a Walther P99 semi-automatic pistol. However, it was not the COD that had puzzled Sid and caused him to call in Hawkes.

"It's strange isn't it?"

Hawkes glanced over his shoulder at the older man as he reconnected his glasses around his neck. Hawkes raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure that these results are correct?"

Sid crossed his arms and gave a high shrug, "I can show you the parts."

"But this is impossible," Hawkes shook his head, "How was he even alive for that long?"

Sid brightened, raising a finger as he rummaged for a different folder, "_That _I can answer."

Hawkes took the offered new folder, placing it on top of the one he had just closed, "'E-Pine?'"

Sid nodded, "Remember that syringe we found on the other vic?"

"The school teacher?" while Hawkes had been notified of Timothy Horton's true identity, Sid had been kept out of the details involving the FBI.

"Yep, I found a few vials of the substance in a hidden pocket on this vic's pants," Sid nodded, putting on his glasses and pointing at a particular portion of the text, "'E-Pine' is te official name of it and I was able to track down and reach out to the pharmaceutical company that is currently conducting further tests for the government."

Hawkes didn't hide his surprise, "How'd you manage that?"

"I have connections too, you know," Sid smiled, peering at the younger man over his glasses.

"Of course," Hawkes grinned, before continuing on more seriously, "But how did it prolong Vorto's life?"

Sid shook his head, "It didn't."

"But – "

" – it only allowed him the mentality to continue to keep moving," Sid sniffed, giving another shrug, "Regular dosages of E-Pine allowed him to stay within that 'high adrenaline' state for hours – for days – but he was still going to die due to the massive degradation of his internal organs."

"But that's just it – how could the artificial epinephrine stimulate organs – a complete body – that were failing?"

Another wide shrug, "Pushed to the point, we don't entirely know how the human body will react in order to survive." Hawkes nodded, tapping his chin. Sid pursed his lips and gave yet another shrug, "Also, we don't know the complete psychological and physiological tendencies of E-Pine."

Hakwes placed the folders back on top of the counter, "But E-Pine isn't particularly harmful."

"No," Sid nodded, "You're right – it's a rather ingenious little drug that will prove to be quite useful for the military."

"So," Hawkes gave a knowing smile to the pathologist, "What's got you worried?"

Sid removed his glasses again, letting it rest upon his chest on its lanyard, "The reason for the breakdown."

"Why Vorto's body was failing?"

Sid gave a nod, his frown deepening, "This attack on his bodily systems was undoubtedly chemically induced – from the looks of it, it seems like the work of a well-developed biotoxin – and I haven't been able to find any trace of what could have caused it."

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"Your wife's name isn't 'Jenny," is it?"

Special Agent Johnson had been overseeing the loading of the vans when a forceful hand had grabbed him by a shoulder and spun him around. He had not expected to see the tall NYPD detective.

"Johnson," Flack stressed, "What do you know?"

Johnson took a step back, straightening his jacket as he did so. He saw the determined stance that Flack held – lying wouldn't be easy. Johnson gave a slight shake of his head, meeting Flack's eyes steadily, "Detective Flack, what are you talking about?"

"Jen," Flack straightened up, peering even more deeply into the other man, "Jennifer Lee – you know about her involvement in all of this."

Johnson decided to stick to the facts, "Detective Flack, I have never met Detective Lee."

"I know," Flack shook his head, "But you know why her blood was found with that man's body – why her blood was on the body of an _FBI agent_."

Johnson exhaled deeply, "Detective Flack, you are out of your league – "

" – I may not have understood how they knew it was hers, but I know that it was her blood." Flack gritted his teeth, a thread of anger now lacing his tones. He needed some answers and he wanted them now.

Johnson saw the look Flack was giving him, the heavy tone he spoke with. He understood the man's despair, the pain of not knowing was unbelievable – he had experienced it before when his wife, Jessie, had disappeared while on assignment.

But Johnson had his orders.

"Detective Flack," he replied firmly, "I do not know anything – "

" – you're lying – "

" – and even if I did," Johnson continued deliberately, "It would not be my place to tell you anything." He let the words convey the depth of his meaning and turned away, sending a silent apology to the man in his mind.

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Don rubbed a heavy hand over his mouth, frustrated by Johnson's tight-mouthedness. He swept his phone off his belt, meaning to call Stella, and saw that it was beeping in his hand. He saw the name and furrowed his brow as he answered, "Adam?"

"_Hey, Flack – sorry to bother you. Are you busy?_"

Don watched as Johnson shut the doors of one of the vans, slamming his fist upon the metal to signal the driver. He hardly meant the irritation into his next words, "When am I not busy, Adam?"

He imagined the lab tech wince, "_Sorry – sorry – of course – _"

" – what is it, Adam?" Don cut him off smoothly, softening his tone as he strode back towards the doors, "It must be important."

"_Yeah – uh – there's a guy here looking for you._"

Don raised a brow, "At the lab?"

"_Yeah – says his name is Eames Shacks?_"

Maybe he'd be getting his questions answered sooner than he thought, "Keep him there – I'm coming up."

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Stella had found Mac in his chair, silently fuming and focusing his furious glare upon the red folder lying on his desk.

"That good, huh?"

Mac looked up, softening his expression a bit, "We're out of our league."

"Well," Stella came to stand beside him, laying a reassuring hand upon his lower neck. Mac was surprised at the intimacy of her touch, meeting her gaze. She offered an encouraging smile, "We knew that starting out."

"There's more," Mac sighed, "Much more – this isn't just about Chelsea Chan _or _Jen."

"You think Fields is hiding something from you?"

"I know she is," he handed her the oflder.

She removed her hand to accept it and Mac had to admit that he missed the warmth. "What is this?"

"Orders," he replied distastefully.

Stella quickly scanned the documents, her brow furrowing deeper with each detail, "But we couldn't possibly do something like this."

"Fields has made it quite clear that we have no say in the matter," Mac frowned even more deeply.

"But – "

Their attention was diverted by a rapping on Mac's door. Hawkes pushed into the room, a frown of his own upon his lips, "Sorry – am I interrupting?"

"No," Stella closed the folder in her hands, raising an eyebrow at Hawkes's obvious agitation. "What's wrong?"

Hawkes placed three folders upon Mac's desk, "You two better take a look at this."


	33. Chapter 32: Restricted Part 9

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 32: Restricted Part 9**

* * *

Shacks enviously eyed the nervous lab technician, who had introduced himself as Adam, as the man strode away mumbling a half-formed excuse. He focused his gaze back on Don Flack who continued his intense stare, hesitating to answer the man's greeting question.

"Where's Jen, Shacks?" Don repeated with an urgency that he failed to hide this time.

Shacks gave a deep sigh, biting his lower lip, as he answered honestly, "I don't know." He shook his head slightly, apologizing in a softer tone, "I don't know."

Don loosened his tie with one hand as he looked off to the side, his shoulders lowering tiredly. He snapped his eyes back upon Shacks, his thin clam finally giving way to his desperate anger. He didn't raise his voice, but the blatant frustration, rank disappointment, and unbridled fear were obvious in his next stern words, "What _do _you know?"

Shacks desperately loved Jen but he knew that Don's affections ran more than a little deeper – the man wasn't ready to hear what he had to offer. He had hoped that by the time he had made it up to New York, that the FBI would have made contact with Jen and made it known that she was still alive. The worry that Don displayed obviously showed that they hadn't. he almost wished that he hadn't ignored Caroline's calls – at the time, he had that that he was doing the right thing by not waiting and directly coming up here to tell Don everything. But at the time, he had received Jen's S.O.S and had more concrete proof that she was still alive. Now, Shacks was uncertain; Don already half-believed that Jen was dead – how could he tell Don the truth now?

So Shacks provided false hope instead, "That's she's alive." He hoped that the certainty he most definitely did not feel was somehow conveyed to Don.

However, Shacks didn't get a chance to see if Don actually believed him. The blue eyes that scrutinized his face flicked away for a moment, narrowing at the doors of the elevators that opened behind him, "What the – "

Shacks turned, instinctively reaching for the gun behind his back.

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Fields felt quite self-conscious of the scathing glares directed at her by the lab's supervisor and assistant supervisor. However, she pretended to not notice as she continued her verbal fencing match with Mac Taylor.

" – there is nothing further to discuss," she cut off Taylor's latest fiery lash and shook out her jacket. She smoothed out the black material as she put it on, not dropping her gaze from Taylor's. "I will contact you when I land in Washington…"

Fields noticed that Taylor had directed his gaze to the glass behind her, his expression one of confusion. She turned and saw Detective Messer run by with his gun drawn, followed by Detective Angell and a few others.

"What the -?" Stella let out, moving past Fields and towards the door.

" – DON'T MOVE!" a voice bellowed.

"Flack - ?!" Stella and Mac both reached for their guns as they ran out of the office.

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Cooper gave an exasperated sigh as he waved his empty hands in the air, "I'm unarmed, gentlemen!"

That did nothing to deter the detectives that held their service weapons aimed at him. The tall, black man and his partner, who had accosted Cooper just as he stepped off the elevator, continued their edgy barricade. Three more men and a woman ran towards them with their weapons drawn, followed by a curly-haired female and the man Cooper had come to see – Detective Mac Taylor.

"I SAID 'DON'T MOVE!'" the dark-haired Caucasian flashed angry blue eyes at him, clearly expecting him to obey. Cooper heaved a great sigh, holding back the severe urge to give the uptight detective a roll of his eyes.

He straightened up, focusing his gaze upon the man, as he slowly and clearly stated, "I need to speak to Detective Mac Taylor." He flicked his eyes towards the solemn man who looked at him curiously now.

"What do you want?" Taylor asked.

Cooper shrugged as he gave a small grin, "It'd be nice if you didn't shoot me."

Taylor lowered his gun, placing it back upon his belt, "And?"

Cooper grimaced slightly, gesturing at the others with their firearms. Taylor glanced at them, motioning downwards with his hand. The others reluctantly put away their guns. Cooper beamed at tall-and-angry who gave him a sarcastic grin that quickly faded.

"Thank you," Cooper said briskly as he set the pack on his back onto the floor and knelt beside it, undoing the zipper.

The antsy detective stepped forward, "Hey – " Cooper frowned as he looked up, opening his mouth to give an annoyed retort.

" – Flack," Taylor warned. It seemed angry-blue-eyes now had a name. Flack nodded, backing off grudgingly.

Cooper gave an inward shrug, Someone_'__s having a bad day… _

"So," he sniffed, looking around as he pulled out the test tubes and placing the box upon the ground, "Where's Fields?"

"I thought you wanted to speak to me," Taylor responded in a rather bored tone.

"I do," Cooper agreed, spotting the blonde woman hanging back at an open doorway, "But it'd be nice to get Mrs. Fields to explain everything." He nodded in her direction with a cheerful grin, "She's quite the expert."

Fields, obviously upset with having been made, gave him a frosty glare as she approached, "Hello, Pennington."

"Hey, Mrs. Fields!" Cooper jumped to his feet, his arms held out wide, "How's my brother?"

Cooper saw the other detectives glance at each other in puzzlement – and Taylor's accusing glance at Fields – and gave a laugh, "Not sharing details as usual, Fields?"

Fields frowned more severely, pursing her lips, "Why are you here, Pennington? I doubt you have anything to offer." She gave a thin smile, "I expected you to return to Shanghai after your asinine escapades these last few weeks failed."

"Shanghair didn't really fit," Cooper shrugged, "Plus," he grinned, "Who said anything about failure?"

"We retrieved our asset," Fields crossed her arms, returning his shrug, "And now you come along, practically offering yourself up for arrest – I wouldn't call that a smashing success."

"Okay," he nodded genially, "You got me on that one. Using two girls to make one person was a good plan – great thinking, really, on your part since your agent was just that good."

"I'll be sure to pass along your compliments to her handler," Fields replied dryly.

Cooper ignored her, his attention now completely drawn to the black detective – except, he wasn't so sure that the man _was _a detective anymore. As Fields and Cooper had carried on their banter, the man had looked significantly uncomfortable – giving Flack a few troubled glances. "You're not NYPD, are you?" he mused aloud.

The man looked at him, his look wary, "No."

"And you look too smart to be FBI," Cooper commented, glancing at Fields who didn't look too pleased.

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment," the man rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven head.

The curly-haired woman finally spoke up, a touch of impatience in her tone, "Aren't we getting off track?"

Cooper ignored her, his brow now furrowed with a curiosity of his own, "What's your name?" _Perhaps a name will help place this familiar face…_

The man glanced apologetically at his fellow peers before replying to Cooper, "Eames Shacks."

Cooper smiled with realization, "You're CIA."

"You are?" the shorter man standing beside Flack raised an eyebrow at the giant, pushing his glasses up a little.

Shacks winced. Taylor and his partner stared.

Fields's face was going to get stuck in that awful expression.

Cooper smiled more broadly as he shook his head with amusement, "Which can only mean that the expendable agent is CIA – oh you lot are _good_."

Everyone's attention was back on him. "What do you mean, 'expendable agent?'" the brunette female voiced.

"Natalie Lin," Cooper stated, matter-of-fact, "Or, at least, the woman I thought was Natalie." He wrinkled his nose, "It'd be nice to know her name – I really hate killing people without knowing their actual names."

Fields looked genuinely surprised, "You haven't killed her yet?"

"Of course not," Cooper snorted, "Why would I kill a perfectly good hostage?"

"We're not willing to negotiate for her life," Fields stated, narrowing her eyes at him, "But you know that already."

"Yeah, I know," Cooper countered, tapping his temple with a finger, "So I thought to myself, 'Cooper, what would your big brother Jimmy do?"

Four-eyes spoke up with a cross of his arms, "And what would your big brother Jimmy do?"

"Cook up a science experiment," Cooper grinned, turning his piercing eyes upon Fields, "I think you know what kind."

He saw Taylor glance at the woman by his side. Undoubtedly the lab's pathologist had told the two about Nicolo Vorto's body – he was counting on it.

"Assistant Director Fields," Taylor said coldly, turning to face Fields completely, "I think we deserve some answers."

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Jen winced as she slowly forced her eyes open, focusing on the ugly gray carpeting that stretched out over her. The same rough material was probably what was pressing into her back, causing further irritation upon her wounded skin. It had only taken her a few moments to realize that she was lying in the back of Pennington's white van. Trying to move, she discovered that her arms had been handcuffed above her head. Straining her gaze upwards, she saw that they were attached to a thick metal ring screwed into the floor. Her legs had fared no better, having been tied together at the ankles and tethered to the head of the passenger's seat. However, that didn't stop her from squirming - trying in vain to free herself – but a sharp, tearing pain in her side stopped her motions – her gasp muffled by the duct tape that was stretched across her lips.

Pennington had been quite thorough.

He had been quite angry with her, shooting her twice. But when she hit the floor, alive, she realized that his fury hadn't deterred him from concocting some plan. He hadn't hit her in any critical spots, the bullets slicing into her left side and missing any vital organs; though if he hadn't bandaged her up, she would have bled out completely. She wasn't sure when that happened – after her body met the pavement, she had blacked out quite willingly – but figured that Cooper must have dragged her into the van right after he shot her, removing her shirt and bandaging her wounds tightly. She still needed better medical attention, but the wrappings would keep her alive for a few more hours – if she didn't exert herself. She closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to relax.

What was he planning to do with that time?


	34. Chapter 33: Restricted Part 10

_**Invested.**_ (Season 1)  
**Chapter 33: Restricted Part 10**

* * *

How stupid did they think he was?

"_So am I right?"_

_Shacks replied mechanically, "Yeah, she's CIA."_

"_No wonder the FBI was so glad to give her up," Pennington shook his head, giving Fields a mock look of horror, "How can you live with yourself?"_

_Fields inhaled deeply, the irritation was now completely engrained into her expression, "I manage."_

"_Still not going to tell me her name?" he countered, already bored with provoking the middle-aged official._

_Fields kept her tone bland, "Does it really matter at this point?"_

_Pennington rolled his eyes, turning to Shacks, "How about you?"_

_The man hesitated and Pennington quickly lost patience._

"_Well," Pennington sniffed, "It wasn't like I expected a straight answer." He knelt down again, pulling something out of the backpack and waving it at them, "Any volunteers?"_

_In his fingers, he held a hand-held monitor that displayed a live video feed. It showed a dim interior and, from the size of the area, they were able to deduce that it was probably the inside of a van. What kept their eyes fixed to the screen was a woman laying upon the floor, her breathing labored. Her face was turned away from the camera lens, making what little that wasn't covered by her long, dark hair hard to see._

"_That could be anyone," Stella responded quickly, waving a hand in the direction of the device. "It's impossible to see her face."_

_However, what wasn't hard to see was how bad a shape the woman was in. her hair was a black tangle, thick with blood, grease, and mud. Her jeans were torn, the material heavy with all kinds of substances. She wore only a bra on top, her torso shoddily wrapped with makeshift bandages that barely contained the heavy blood that seeped through the fabric. Every inch of her skin was covered in bruises and scratches, caked in dried blood and mud. If it wasn't for the slow but steady rise and fall of her chest, they would have wondered if the woman was alive at all._

_Pennington looked at Stella carefully, his eyes searching her thinly veiled emotions, "You think you know who it is?"_

"_I can't see her face," she replied back, glancing at Mac in her uncertainty, "It's impossible to make an actual ID."_

"_Liar," Pennington retorted, "You know who this is, don't you?" He waved the monitor at all of them, "You all do."_

_Flack finally spoke up, his tone quiet. He turned in Mac's direction with a deadly serious gaze, "It's Jen, isn't it?"_

_Mac slightly bit his bottom lip – obviously, searching for the right thing to say – but, shockingly, dropped his gaze to the floor. _

"'_Jen?'" Pennington repeated._

_Flack turned towards Shacks, answering Pennington as he kept his eyes upon the tall, black man who couldn't meet his eyes, "Her name is Jennifer, Jennifer Lee. She's an NYPD detective, a member of this crime lab, but I think Eames Shacks can tell you more about her than I can."_

"_Don," Shacks finally attempted, bringing his gaze up to meet the man's eyes, "Don – I'm sorry – "_

_Flack just shook his head, raising a tired hand against Shack's's words. "Excuse me," he let out as he backed away a few paces before he turned and strode away completely._

The group had since relocated to a conference room. Now only Fields, Shacks, Mac, Stella, and Hawkes were in the room with Cooper Pennington. Flack had returned to see Danny and Lindsay hovering outside the closed door. He saw that hey noticed him. Lindsay made a few steps towards him, her mouth opening to say something but he just shook his head slightly, giving her a small smile. She bit her lip, glancing down at her hands. He moved past them and swung the door open, letting himself in.

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Only Hawkes seemed to notice Flack entering the room, glancing over to give him a nod. Flack returned his greeting, silently taking a position along the wall and crossing his arms. He turned towards the four at the front of the room, ignoring Shacks's presence on the far wall, but kept his eyes fixed on Pennington, watching the criminal's every move.

Pennington reclined in a chair, his feet propped up on the table in front of him. Fields, Mac, and Stella stood before him, staring down at him – or, in Fields's case, glowering.

Stella seemed to have had enough of Fields's banter with Pennington. She cut in before they could begin again, "What did you inject Nicolo Vorto with?"

Pennington looked delighted that they knew about it, "My brother's special blend of biotoxins! Sorry, couldn't tell you what's in it – Jimmy's the scientist, I never had the brains."

"Did you inject Jen with the same thing?"

"Of course not," Pennington scoffed, "That particular poison is quite useless because it's so unstable. It's good for killing things but I don't _want _to kill _Jen_." He tilted his head back, looking towards Flack, before he turned back to his audience.

Flack gritted his teeth as he focused on the back of Pennington's head. The suggestive lilt emphasizing Jen's name was for his benefit – a fact he better realized when the three authoritative heads glanced in his direction. He sensed that they wanted him out of the room – wanting to say something about him being too involved – but he wasn't going to move.

"_Oh Jen, you crazy woman," he grinned, taking her in his arms. "I'm _quite _invested in you."_

He hadn't lied when he told her that four years ago and – though she had laughed off his serious stare – he had always meant it.

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"But you did inject her with something," Stella said uneasily, her gaze narrowing upon Pennington with a slight furrow of her brow.

"Yep," Pennington gave a shrug, "Sorry I had to really – she went through a lot these past few days, getting beaten to crap then being dragged from place to place." He coughed apologetically, "I also let my temper get the better of me and shot her – though not fatally. You all saw the feed." He glanced down at his watch, checking the time again on the clock that hung on the wall, "I do hope she's holding up alright…"

Fields spoke up again. This time there was a touch of concern in her voice, though the rest doubted that it was for Jen, "What did you inject her with?"

Pennington grinned, meeting the woman's tense gaze. "My brother _did _warn you," he replied simply.

"Enough," Mac said quietly, his tone firm and threatening. He looked at both Pennington and Fields, turning his unblinking eyes upon them, "Explain."

Fields gave a sigh, raising her arms in surrender, "_Fine_." She crossed her arms tightly, staring directly at Mac, "James Pennington was a brilliant biologist and chemist, leading a number of research teams at Johns Hopkins University for the U.S. government – cancer research, medicinal properties of plant life from the rain forests, immune system tendencies, among other things. However, his interests became diverted by… extracurricular activities and he was fired."

Mac frowned at her choice of words, "'Extracurricular activities?'"

She cleared her throat, reluctantly adding on, "Biological weapons." She quickly went on, "After he was removed from our payroll, he disappeared. Six months later, the government caught word of an incident in Sudan where a small town was wiped out by a strange disease. Doctors from the World Health Organization investigated."

"A peculiar brand of hemotoxins in the water," Hawkes nodded, speaking for the first time since he joined the party. Fields raised her brow in his direction as he straightened up. "I read the report," he placed a hand upon his chin, "It does make sense, Vorto's body could've easily been in the final stages of poisoning from a hemotoxin."

"One of the U.S. government agencies managed to trace it back to James Pennington and he was incarcerated, I assume," Mac filled in.

Fields nodded, continuing, "James Pennington was working with hemotoxins, developing different types. From what your pathologist described, Nicolo Vorto was dosed with a Type 1 – no cure. The village in Sudan suffered from a Type 2 – curable but fast-acting. Before his lock-up, James Pennington told us that he had completed his Type 3 and that he had hidden it. The issue became a matter of concern when he revealed that his experimentation had resulted in the ability to mobilize the hemotoxin, making it contagious. The death of a Type 3 victim would result in the transferal of the toxin by mere skin contact – it wouldn't be necessary to use a medium such as the water supply."

Stella bit her lip, "So you're saying that Jen's been injected with a Type 3."

"The girl's got another couple hours before she dies because of her wounds or because of the toxin," Pennington glanced at the clock again, "So I'd make up my mind quickly if I were you."

"Where is the van?" Fields asked quickly.

"I'm glad you asked," Pennington shook a finger, rapidly spitting out the location, "Hunter College Elementary School on East 94th."

"Goddamnit," Stella muttered.

"Oh," Pennington reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a cellphone. He flipped it open, showing them a ready text message, "Did I mention – any false moves and I'll just blow the damn thing up?"

"What?" Fields snapped. Though she had suspected it, she had hoped that there was no bomb involved.

The man shrugged, "I had to have some sort of insurance policy, you know." He grinned, "C-4's the best kind."

Mac sighed, his lips thinning, "I think it's time to negotiate."

"It's a whole different matter when children are involved, isn't it?" Pennington said smugly.

Fields exhaled deeply, "I'll need to make some calls."

"Better do it quick," he glanced at the clock again, "Tick-tock."

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"_The situation's gotten out of hand, Caroline,_" Deborah said tensely.

Caroline Mathers ran a hand over her face, sighing, "You should have retrieved Jen when you had the chance."

"_There _was _no chance – _"

" – you didn't look for one," Caroline snapped, "You deemed her expendable within five minutes."

Deborah fell silent, a deep sigh was heard over the phone, "_It seemed to be the most efficient way at the time._"

"What's done is done, Deborah," Caroline said tiredly, "Give him what he wants."

"_But – _"

Caroline ignored her, "The children are the priority. He wants his brother – hand James Pennington over. Call me when you have James Pennington in the air."

"_Caroline – _"

Caroline placed the phone back in its holder. She sat back in her chair, taking a moment to think before she picked up her phone – this time a small, black handheld.

"Tyler? I've got a job for you."

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Chelsea handed the USB drive to the man sitting across from her in the SUV. He took it, quickly inserting it into the laptop in his hands. He typed for a few moments, clicking when he was done. He glanced up at her, giving her a curt nod. She gave a sigh, sitting back in the leather seats.

Chelsea was being taken back home – the Pennington matter had escalated beyond her clearance. Her handlers had let her know that there was a new case open for her, along with a new digital identity to assume. She was half-glad, relieved that she'd be returning to her routine, but the other half of her still felt guilty, thinking about Jen.

Would she ever be thrown away like Jen had been?

At that moment, an explosive noise drew her attention towards the back of the car. Through the tinted glass, she saw the black vehicle right behind hers flip over in a burst of fiery light. She frantically turned her widened eyes towards her handlers who looked just as panicked as she did. The burly special agent assigned to this car grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to the floor before falling on top of her.

"Stay down!" he barked in her ear.

Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut, _Please, please, please - !_

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" – HOLY FUCK!" the pilot yelled into his headset. The men in the chopper assigned to oversee the convoy stared down in horror at the row of SUVs exploding into the air one by one. The back two were smoldering heaps melting into the tarmac. The on in the very front was the next to go. "What the hell is happening?!"

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were just supposed to keep an eye on the cars – they weren't equipped to deal with an attack of any form. The co-pilot craned his neck to keep his eyes on the two vehicles that remained, "Shit! There goes the last security detail!"

The vehicle that had been in the middle careened to avoid the wreckages, racing down the black pavement. It only took another second.

The SUV exploded into a blazing conflagration, burning the hottest out of the five, "The asset's been hit!"

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Special Agent Johnson entered the room, making his way directly towards Fields. "We've received clearance for a helicopter landing on the MetLife Building. We can be ready to move there within the hour." The woman turned away, giving Pennington a dissatisfied glare.

"Your brother's on his way," Fields said tersely. Pennington grinned, getting to his feet. He stretched his arms upward, knocking his head back to crack his neck.

"Great," he replied with a yawn.

Shacks stepped forward, his gaze intense, "The antidote – at least let us give Jen the antidote."

Pennington dropped his arms, relaxing his stance considerably. He sniffed, glancing over his shoulder at Flack before turning to Shacks. He cocked his head to the side, giving a frown, "Nah. I'll give you the antidote _and _my phone when I'm with my brother on the helipad."

A flare of anger burned in Flack's chest – he wanted nothing more than to strangle Pennington at the moment. _Though_,Flack noticed the glance Shacks shot at him, _I could settle for strangling Shacks later instead…_

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Special Agent Johnson hadn't moved from his initial position and Fields turned back to him with a level of exasperation. "What?" she snapped tiredly.

Johnson glanced at the others in the room before leaning in and lowering his tone even more than before, "Lin's convoy was destroyed."

"What?!" she hissed. _Could this day get any worse?_

"According to the eyes in the sy, there was a series of explosions – each SUV exploded," Johnson explained, his tone apologetic.

"Get to the site," she said, "I want you to personally take care of it."

Johnson nodded.

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Jen didn't know how long she'd been lying there and being immobilized did nothing for her sanity.

She had pushed the pain wracking her body to the back of her mind – at least, she had tried. After trying to loosen her bindings and utterly failing and after trying in vain to think of some way to get out of this situation and reaching no good conclusion, she had had nothing to keep her mind distracted – the pain was steadily pushing its way to the forefront of her mind. It became a silent test: how much could she ignore and stay lucid – for how long?

"_I said," Aiden turned swiftly, striking a dramatic stance, "'You're cute, Messer – but you're way out of my league.'"_

_She let loose a peal of laughter, raising a pillow to her mouth to muffle her hysterics, "You _said _that?" She shook her head furiously, the laughter still upon her lips, "Did you _practice _that?"_

"_No," Aiden plopped down on the couch, raising the beer bottle to her lips with a chuckle, "Pretty good though, eh?"_

_No. Don't think about Aiden. _God, she was starting to lose it. _Where did that memory even come from…? _It had been a long time since she had thought of Aiden. God, how she still missed her…

"_FUCK YOU!__" the girl screamed, throwing the textbook through the door._

_She ducked, narrowly missing the heavy science textbook. "Oh yeah?!" she yelled back, looking around for something to throw, "Well – fuck you too!" She grabbed a volume of Hemingway, pitching it into the room._

_A scream of frustration answered her._

_Wow. _Jen almost laughed. Middle school. Falling out with a friend. _ I _think _it was a best friend… what was her name again? _She had thought she had completely erased her younger years from her mind but, though the names were lost and the moments were muddled, it seemed that she still remembered. Where was her mind going…? _Maybe it'd be better to just think about the pain…_

_She grinned as she wiggled her finger across his nose, her other hand still buried deeply within his black locks. _

"_Stop it, Jen," he laughed, tilting his head back further into her lap to playfully bite at her finger._

_No. _Don't _think about Don. _His perfect smile. _God, no. Don't. Don't think about it…_

She was thankfully startled by a loud beep that came from near her feet. She lifted her head carefully, focusing in on the dark box settled between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat. She only saw it now but it was a speaker.

Jen furrowed her brow, _What…?_

Static. The clearing of a throat. "_Hey, baby._"


	35. Chapter 34: Restricted Part 11

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 34: Restricted Part 11**

* * *

Flack watched as Cooper Pennington brought an earpiece out of his pocket. He adjusted the attached mic with a hand as he turned on the monitor from earlier again.

"What are you doing?" Stella said warily.

"Checking in with our girl," Pennington tapped a button on the earpiece. He held out the monitor for them to see. Flack moved closer and he and Stella watched as Jen lifted her head up to look at something near her feet. Pennington cleared his throat, crossing his arms. The two detectives glanced towards him. Pennington kept his eyes on Flack as he grinned, "Hey, baby."

Flack gritted his teeth, trying not to let his irritation show, _Don't let him jerk you around._

"Just letting you know," Pennington said conversationally, "Your boy Flack's going to come pick you up soon. He'll bring the cavalry – I think the bomb squad's been waiting for a few hours already."

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Stella watched as Jen let her head drop back again – even that little amount of exertion seemed to exhaust her. She glanced over at Flack whose eyes remained fixed on the small screen – he had to be hurting.

"Don't die, Jen." Stella looked up in surprise at the change in Pennington's tone – he sounded _caring _almost. Pennington then removed the earpiece, pulling back the monitor to turn it off. He grinned at Stella, "Don't look at me like that – I told you, I didn't _want _her to die. She's an interesting one – she made things exciting. I'd like to see her again." His light words didn't reach his sharp emerald eyes – they stayed hard, challenging: he _would _see Jen again someday, he would make sure of it.

"Is that an okay to move in on the van?" Flack asked quietly.

Pennington went to the table, pushing the monitor into his backpack, "Well, you'll need to get there and get set up before we meet the helicopter." He threw a strap over a shoulder, turning to look at him. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, tossing them to Flack, "I'll let Detective Bonasera here call you when we're ready."

Flack looked at Stella, who gave him a nod, before speeding out of the room. She watched through the glass as he approached Fields about the team that had been standing by. Special Agent Harper and Jess moved past them and entered the room. Jess nodded towards Stella, "It's time."

Stella looked towards Pennington, jerking her head towards the door, "Let's go."

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"_Bomb squad?__"_

_Of course. There's always a bomb._

_Sigh._

Jen shut her eyes again.

_I hate not knowing what's going on._

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"It's not fair," Lindsay stressed again.

Danny sighed, scratching his nose, "We're off-duty as of an hour ago and Mac specifically ordered us home."

"But – "

" – plus," he frowned, "Did you really think that I'd let you go to either the school or the MetLife Building? Or that Mac would let you go?"

"But it's Jen – "

" – and we'll see her when they have her safe," he sighed again, "As I recall, Stella's got you under strict orders to stay in the lab until the pregnancy's over." He gave an exasperated roll of his eyes, "it's like you forget that you're pregnant sometimes."

Lindsay let out a guffaw, "How could I forget _that_?"

Danny sheepishly scratched his neck, "Okay, that's a bit impossible – "

" – yeah, baby daddy, just a bit," she shook her head, rubbing her belly, as she looked down, "Your father's a weird one, baby."

"Hey - !"

" – oh shush and go buy me some pickles."

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The men quickly formed a perimeter around the van and had the school evacuated – there was only an hour left in the school day and the kids seemed happy to have early dismissal. The bomb squad suited up so that they'd be ready when the call came through and the medevac team stood ready to rush in and take Jen to the hospital. Flack had been staring at his phone ever since they had arrived at the school. This was the part he hated, the waiting. He glanced towards the white van, _Please be alive, Jen._

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Stella and Fields walked up the stairs to the rooftop. Pennington, flanked by Shacks and Jess, were a little behind them, followed by a team of other FBI agents and NYPD officers.

"You don't like me very much," Fields said matter-of-factly, keeping her eyes in front of her.

Stella did the same, her mouth forming a small frown, "No, I do not." She doubted that she would have admitted to it so freely if Mac was still present but the man had been forced to stay behind and deal with some pressing matters that had come in.

"Well," the other woman replied, "I think you'll be rid of me soon."

Stella didn't respond, _I'm counting on it._

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James and Cooper Pennington could have been twins – they cut the same handsome figures with well-structured faces and bodies. Though James looked older and wore rectangular glances, the resemblance was striking. The older Pennington lifted his handcuffed wrists to scratch his chin. He looked up at his burly guard, colloquially commenting, "I have no idea what this is about – little brother never cared very much about me."

The guard sniffed, keeping his eyes on the approaching party, "Can't betray his own blood maybe."

"Shut up, Tom," the guard on James's other side frowned, "Don't talk to this guy."

"_You _shut up, Jim," the first growled, obviously miffed at being told off.

"You're such a child," Jim rolled his eyes.

"And you owe me a beer – don't make me make it a steak dinner," Tom warned.

"Touche," Jim sniffed, "Okay, let's go."

"Come on," Tom gestured with the rifle in his hand.

James Pennington raised his cuffed hands before him, alarmed, "Watch where you point that thing!"

"Sorry."

Jim snickered.

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Cooper watched the other Pennington approach with his two guards. He let down his backpack, looking over at Stella. "Why don't you give our boy a call? Jen first. You can have the bomb when I'm safely on that chopper."

She held out her hand, "The antidote?"

Cooper smiled, "There is no antidote."

"But you said – "

"I lied. I only have the toxins – I never had any of the antidotes."

Stella's anger flared, "But you injected Jen with one of the toxins!"

Cooper continued his smile, "Did i?"

Her anger dissipated into confusion, "What?"

"I told you that I didn't want to kill her, Detective Bonasera," he repeated. He turned away, approaching his brother.

She stared after him as she grabbed her phone off her belt.

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Flack nodded, "Ok." He quickly placed the phone back upon his belt. He waved the medic team forward, "Let's go!" He shook his head at the bomb squad that had started to move forward, "Second call for the bomb." The leader nodded, stepping back again.

Flack sprinted towards the white van past the two medics pushing the stretcher and the one carrying the kit. He reached the doors first, hands slamming upon the white metal. He fumbled with the keys for a moment, forcing the right one into the slot.

_Please be alive._

He threw the doors open.

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Jen tilted her head backwards, her eyes squinting at the light.

"Jen?" _Don_. "Oh my god, Jen." He jumped into the van, quickly undoing her cuffs and moving to unlash her feet.

_Safe._

She finally let herself give in to blissful unconsciousness.

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Tom undid James's handcuffs, "Go on."

"Pleasure traveling with you gentlemen," James nodded at his two guards before turning to Cooper.

Cooper walked right up to him with his arms outstretched, a broad smile on his face, "Jimmy!"

"Baby brother!" James grinned, clapping his arms around his brother. "What a surprise!"

"Isn't it?" Cooper pulled back from the embrace slightly. His smile had faded, his eyes narrowed in deep concentration, "Hardings sends his best."

_Hardings. Shit. _James tried to push away from Cooper but it was too late. The younger Pennington flipped out a knife from his right sleeve, jamming it into James's heart all the way up to the hilt – there was no way he could miss such an easy target. Cooper shoved his brother's body away from him, turning back to the FBI and NYPD.

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Fields and Stella glanced at each other uneasily as Cooper walked back towards them.

"Never liked big brother Jimmy very much," he shrugged casually.

Fields gave a laugh, rubbing his forehead, "It was a contract kill?"

"Of course," Cooper grinned, pulling out his phone. He waved it at them, "Now if you please – "

He was suddenly cut off, his body thrown to the side. Stella went after the phone as it flew out of Cooper's hand. She picked it up off the pavement looking up to see Cooper's sightless eyes staring at her; his lips were fixed into that confident grin but the back half of his head was gone, a bloody mess upon the cement.

"What the - !" Fields yelled at the gunman – one of the guards that had escorted James Pennington to the site.

He cut her off quickly, an apologetic squint upon his eyes, "Sorry, ma'am. Agent James Tyler. Orders from Miss Des."

"'Miss Des.'" Fields repeated. She let out an exasperated cry, "Fucking _hell_…" She swung away, angrily punching numbers into her phone. "Harper! Take care of this mess!" she barked. Special Agent Harper nodded, scrambling.

Stella looked up at Tyler and his partner who came to stand by him, "I'm guessing you're not FBI."

"CIA," the other man answered, "Agent Thomas Swanson. We're Jen's big brothers."

"You must be Detective Bonasera," Tyler nodded, pointing to her hair. "Jen said something about untamable curls and piercing, green eyes."

"_Did _she?" Stella blinked.

"Yep," Swanson grinned, "She also said you were quite pretty."

Stella cleared her throat, a flush creeping to her cheeks, "Er – oh." She turned away with a curse, grabbing her phone to call up Flack – _Bomb._

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"_A little _notice _would have been nice!_"

Caroline rolled her eyes, pulling the phone away from her ear, "I had to take some things into my own hands, Deborah."

"_Goddamnit – Caro – Des!_"

She sighed. _I'll have to buy Deborah a big dinner sometime… _Her friend was quite furious at the moment. "I'll see you when you get back, Debbie."

"_Don't you _dare _hang - !_"

Caroline placed the phone back in its bed, turning back to the active video screen, "I apologize – you were saying, Mr. President?"


	36. Chapter 35: Restricted Part 12

_**Invested. **_(Season 1)  
**Chapter 35: Restricted Part 12**

* * *

It had been three days since the conclusion of the Pennington incident.

Jen was still unconscious.

The doctors said that there was nothing to be worried about, that everything was fine. She was stable and healing quickly and her mind was very much still intact. She was just taking a long, well-deserved sleep – she _had _been in exhaustive, stressful conditions for the past few weeks. There was nothing to worry about. She would wake when she was refreshed.

Flack didn't care for what the doctors had to say – he still worried. It didn't help matters that Agents Tom Swanson and Jim Tyler were still hanging around. Though they said that they were staying for personal reasons, Flack had no doubt that their boss, 'Des,' had ordered them to keep an eye on Jen – just in case one of her enemies got bold and tried to kill her because she was in such a vulnerable state.

He felt so helpless. He _hated _it.

Flack pushed the doors open, entering the private wing of the hospital that the CIA had ordered sectioned off.

"Hey, Flack," Tyler nodded from his seat upon the bench.

Flack nodded back, "Hey."

Swanson waved from his post at Jen's door, leaning his shoulder upon the doorframe. Flack nodded at him too before turning towards the glass windows that looked in on the room.

There she was, lying in the bed. The bed was inclined with extra pillows supporting her back and head. The white blankets were perfectly tucked up to her chest around her and her arms were folded neatly across her stomach. Her long brown locks were tucked around her head, cascading down her right shoulder – so glossy and soft looking in the light. One of the nurses, Kathy, had taken a great liking to Jen and would spend time rubbing lotion into her skin and brushing out her hair after she showered her, talking to her in soothing tones. It was nice to know that Jen was being cared for.

"Aren't you going to go in?"

Flack looked over at Tyler who had come to stand next to him. He had a rough face with stern features and faint scars tracing across a whole side of his face – but he had extremely kind eyes, a deep brown that reminded Flack of Jen's eyes. Those eyes were now looking at Jen's still form, intense care in his gaze. A flash of jealousy passed through Flack – this man knew so much more about Jen than he did; perhaps there was more to their relationship than just comradery… He shook his head – he shouldn't be having these thoughts. He turned his eyes back towards Jen.

"No," he said shortly, "I'm not strong enough."

He felt the other man's eyes looking at him curiously. Flack didn't want to explain – he was surprised that he had even let that bit slip – and he doubted that he could have said it aloud anyway.

It was partly the room. The large, white room – though bright and full – was so sterile, so lifeless. Jen didn't belong there. It didn't have her warmth and he didn't want to ever remember her in that room – it hurt too much.

It was partly their past. They had been here before – except, with him in the bed and her at the window. Jen had broken all the rules, exasperating the nurses and amusing the doctors, and had stayed by his side the whole time. She had held his hand and willed him to wake.

He doubted that he had the strength to do the same.

Selfishness – yes, he knew.

"You know," Tyler spoke up, his tone careful, "Jen would just want you with her."

Flack looked at the man, his blue eyes meeting those brown ones.

"Just having you by her side would be enough," Tyler said simply, clapping a hand on Flack's shoulder. He then walked back to the bench where Swanson had settled, "Come on Tom – let's get some coffee."

Flack heard the doors swing shut behind the two men.

He sighed, _Well, what are you waiting for you coward._

Am I awake?

_He felt her fingers wrap around his, her thumb gently running across his skin. She was so warm._

"_Hey, darl," she said softly, her tone uneven. She paused, clearing her throat._

Jen, beautiful Jen.

_He imagined that she was biting her lip, her eyes looking away._

_When she spoke again, her tone still held her uncertainty and fright but there was a strong determination that was rooted in her shaking words._

Darkness.

"_I'm here. Don't you dare leave me… Please."_

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Lindsay flipped through the folder in her hand, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hey, Lindsay."

She glanced up, her face relaxing into a smile, "Hey, Jess."

The long-haired brunette smiled, waving a folder, "Messer told me to give this to you."

Lindsay took it, nodding graciously, "Thank you." She glanced at her watch, before raising an eyebrow at the other woman, "Aren't you off-duty?"

Jess shrugged, "I like the work."

"You're covering for Flack, aren't you?" Lindsay said prosaically, raising an eyebrow.

"That was a fast deduction," Jess said with mild surprise. She clapped her hands together lightly, "Bravo, Detective Monroe – bravo."

Lindsay laughed, shaking her head. However, her smile faded when she thought of Jen. "I went to see her this morning – I wish she'd wake up."

"Me too," Jess sighed, pursing her lips. She glanced at her phone, "I'm going to go visit her when I'm done." She grinned mischievously, "Stella's going to need help getting Flack's ass off that bench."

"Oh?" Lindsay raised an eyebrow, "Is that the only reason why?"

"Oh shut up, Monroe," Jess said with a grimace.

Lindsay shrugged, turning away, "Say 'hi' to Swanson for me, Jess!" she waved a hand backwards.

"I didn't hear that!" Jess called back. Lindsay grinned.

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"Are you _still _miffed?" Caroline Mathers raised an eyebrow at her dinner partner as she forked a large piece of shrimp.

"No," Deborah sniffed. She pointedly did not look at Caroline as she took another big bite out of her garden salad.

Caroline rolled her eyes, "Do I need to remind you that I have more authority than you do?"

It was Deborah's turn to roll her eyes, "I know _that_."

"Stop being a baby and have some of my shrimp," Caroline snorted, brusquely shoving her bowl towards the other woman.

Deborah eyed the bowl, "That's not going to make me feel better."

"No," Caroline said exasperatedly, "I'm sure you'll still be sulking but it tastes good so shut up and have some."

"Fine," Deborah speared two fat shrimps on her fork.

_Bzzzz… Bzzzz… Bzzzz… _The Beta phone. Caroline sighed, "Sorry, I have to take this."

"Go ahead," Deborah answered, busily reaching for another shrimp. _Bzzzz… Bzzzz…_

Caroline blocked her fork with her own, "Don't eat _all _of them."

"Just one more," Deborah promised. _Bzzzz…_

"Uh-huh," Caroline shook her head, getting to her feet. She'd be lucky if there was even one left when she got back. She walked towards the restaurant's kitchen, flipping open the phone, "Hello?"

"_How's Jen, Desdemona?_" A smooth, male tone.

She stopped in her steps, "How'd you get this number?"

"_You should know – people get what they want when they want it enough._" _Click._

Caroline lowered the phone, _Damnit._

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Stella rapped on the glass door as she swung it open, "Hey, Mac."

"Hi," he said looking up from his computer.

Stella clapped her hands together a moment before jerking a thumb backwards, "Sid and I are going to go visit Jen – did you want to come?"

"I'll catch up with you," he settled back in his chair, resignedly swinging a finger at the screen, "I have to wrap this up first."

Normally Stella would have bounded up to his side of the desk to take a peek at what he was doing, but she decided to let him be for this evening. "Okay," she smiled encouragingly, backing out of the room, "I'll see you later."

Mac nodded, returning her smile, before turning back to the screen.

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Shacks held the cup of cheap coffee near his lips, his eyes focused on the hospital across the street. He had seen Flack enter a few hours ago so it probably wasn't a good idea to go in. The man saw him as a part of the problem and Shacks doubted that he'd ever be in Flack's good graces until Jen woke up and coaxed her man to accept him.

If _she woke up._

Shacks rapped his knuckles upon his temple, _God. What are you thinking, Shacks – _of course _she'll wake up._

_It's been three days._

He gave a shake of his head, _The doctors said that she's fine. She's just sleeping. She'll wake up._

God, he needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to Jen.

_If only I hadn't shown up at the wrong time._

He sat up hurriedly, startled by a buzzing in his back pocket. He sighed, looking at the caller ID, as he flipped open his phone, "Hello, mother."

"_Ha, ha, Shacks – very funny._" Caroline Mathers replied dryly.

"Sorry," he grinned as he took another sip of his drink, "Couldn't resist."

"_Of course._" She was probably rolling her eyes at him. "_How's Jen?_"

He pressed his lips together as he exhaled deeply through his nose, "Same – healthy, healing, stable. Still not awake."

"_Are Swanson and Tyler keeping a close eye on her?_"

Shacks's eyebrow twitched, "Of course – why? Did something happen?"

"_No,_" she replied firmly. "_Just checking._"

"Liar," he said flatly.

"_Stop being so ridiculous and drink your coffee._"

He instinctively glanced over his shoulder, "Creeper."

"Baby," she countered. "_Call me if anything happens._"

Shacks caught sight of the camera on the corner of the sidewalk. "Yes, ma'am," he saluted towards the pole.

"_Cute._" _Click._

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"Yeah," Deborah answered absentmindedly, tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

"_Director Fields, this is Johnson._"

She sat up, taking the phone in hand, "What's your status?"

"_We were able to piece together a portion of the device attached to the underside of the vehicles._"

She tapped her fingers against her desk impatiently, "And?"

"_You're not going to like this,_" he hesitated.

She sighed, scratching her brow, "Since when do I ever like it?"

"_Sorry – it – the device – is a U.S. government prototype. _We're _working with them._"

Her hand froze. "'We' as in the U.S. government?"

"_No… 'we' as in the FBI._"

_Shit. _Deborah sighed, biting her lip, "Thank you, Johnson."

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Sid had disappeared to find one of the doctors to talk to and Stella entered the wing by herself. She noticed that it was Swanson and Tyler who were occupying the bench. She raised her brow, "No Flack?"

Tyler smiled, jerking his chin towards the room. Stella turned, quickly approaching the glass. A smile formed on her own lips as she saw Flack at Jen's side, fast asleep with his head lying on the arm resting upon the bed – his other hand tightly wrapped around hers.

"About time," Tyler sniffed, crossing his arms as he stepped up next to Stella.

"God, yes," she gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

He looked at her, a half-grin upon his lips, "It's time for you to chase him home though, isn't it?"

She glanced up at the large man, suddenly aware of how brown his eyes were. There was just something about Tyler that made her uncomfortable – though, she'd never admit it. She coughed, "Yep – excuse me." She walked around him, entering the room.

Stella stepped towards Flack, placing a hand on his shoulders to give him a shake.

"Don't do that."

She nearly jumped in surprise, her eyes snapping towards the only other person in the room, Jen – and it _had _been Jen. Her eyes were half open, sleepily peering out from under he long lashes. "Oh my god," Stella let out as she clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Jen smiled tiredly, mumbling, "Shh – don't wake Don."

"Jen, you're awake," Stella said disbelievingly. She moved closer to the bed, her voice rising in volume, "Oh my god – you're awake!"

"Shush Stell," Jen gave a slightly hoarse laugh, "You're really going to wake up Don."

"He'll have to suffer," Stella smiled widely.

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"Swanson! Tyler!" Stella called to them from the doorway, "She's awake!"

The two men jumped up from the bench, swiftly bounding into the room. Jen's eyes opened wider at the sight of them, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Tom settled at the foot of the bed, a broad grin on his face. "Hey, kid," he winked at her.

Jim had moved directly to her right side, grabbing ahold of her freehand. Stella noticed the immediate intimacy of the act – she was suddenly glad that Flack wasn't awake yet to see it.

Jen's eyes blinked rapidly as she looked from Tom to Jim, "What… what are you two doing here?"

"You didn't think we'd stay away, did you?" Tom snorted. But Jen caught him flicking his eyes towards Jim for the merest fraction of a second – she knew. Tom cared for her deeply, but Jim was on a level of his own. Caroline knew their connection – Jen knew that Care would have called Jim Tyler first out of everyone in the Beta force to come keep an eye on her.

She looked up at Jim, giving his hand a squeeze, "You shouldn't have come."

"Don't be crazy, princess," he gave her his soft half-grin, "I promised."

He did. He did promise. Her eyes traced the scars that ran down the right side of his face.

"_I'll always be there when you need me."_

"I never should have let you," Jen said almost inaudibly.

Jim gave her hand a squeeze, "Who said I asked for permission?"

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Stella glanced over her shoulder as another person entered the room.

"She's awake?" Sid asked her breathlessly. Swanson had gone to notify a nurse or a doctor and Sid must have run when he heard the news.

She just smiled, jerking her head towards the bed. Sid came further into the room, looking towards Jen. He saw her face light up, a smile gracing her lips, "Hi, Sid."

He heaved a great sigh of relief, mustering a shaky smile. He waved a finger at her, "You had us worried, young lady!"

She winced appropriately, the twinkle still in her eye, "Sorry, dad."

"'Dad?'" Stella repeated, looking at him with slight surprise.

Sid waved his hand, giving a sheepish shrug, "I had her over for dinner a few times – my family adores her."

"So, _that's _what you meant by having another daughter," Stella grinned.

Sid blinked defensively, "What did you _think _I meant?"

She shrugged casually, pointing a finger to the door, "I'm going to go call Jess, Messer, and Lindsay to let them know – you want to call Mac and Hawkes?"

"Yeah, sure," he nodded, backing out of the room, but didn't leave without a remark, "Don't think you've gotten away."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied airily, all but sticking her tongue out at him.

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Shacks stirred awake from the buzzing in his pocket. He uprighted his chair, rubbing his nose with a yawn as he answered his phone, "Shacks."

"_Shacks!_" Swanson's excited tone. "_She's awake._"

Shacks relaxed completely, knocking his head back into the head of the chair. "Thank God," he let out faintly, rubbing his brow with his free hand.

"_You coming up?_"

"Er," Shacks looked around the mess in his car for his keys and wallet, "Maybe in a bit."

"_Flack's asleep now,_" Swanson commented knowingly.

"Hey," Shacks snorted, "Flack couldn't keep me from seeing my best buddy."

"_Whatever you say, brah,_" Swanson snorted, "_See you in a few._" _Click._

Shacks reached for the glove compartment, rummaging inside for his missing items, as he tapped Caroline's number into his phone.

"_New developments?_" Caroline asked briskly.

"Yeah," Shacks grinned broadly, "She's awake."

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Jen watched as Jim reached into his pocket for his vibrating phone – the pocket he kept the Beta phone in. Jim glanced at the caller ID before looking at her again. He gave her hand an extra squeeze before letting go, "I have to take this."

"Tell her I said, 'hi,'" she smiled.

He nodded, returning her gesture, "Will do."

She watched him go, inwardly laughing at his, "Yes, mother?" response. Jen knew that the active Beta force members had begun to use "mother" rather than "Des" or "Desdemona." It had been a running joke even when Jen was active to call Caroline "mother." Care wasn't so pleased with that – much to the Beta force's mirth, of course.

Jen turned her gaze back upon Don, still fast asleep – still tightly holding on to her left hand. "He must have been really tired," she murmured, a soft smile on her lips. She reached over with her free hand, gently brushing back his hair.

Don opened his eyes then. "Exhausted, actually," he mumbled.

She saw the alertness in his eyes and she shook her head with a rueful laugh, "You were wide awake the whole time weren't you?"

"Maybe not the whole time," he said stretching out his neck as he straightened up, "But for a good part of the time, yes."

Jen saw how worn out he looked. She saw how he looked at her, uncertainty weighing every glance. Something in her knotted, resting heavily within her body – it hurt her to see him like this.

It was her fault.

She knew just how much Don had given to her, just how much he invested into this relationship – just how much she played a part in his life. She loved him almost unconditionally and so she had gone along with it, investing just as much of herself. As time passed, they had only grown closer – each becoming the other's center, becoming more of each other than ever.

Dangerous. They both cared too much, investing their whole selves into each other.

But she had kept too many secrets. She didn't doubt that he was more than a little bit lost at the moment. She could only hope that he would let her stay, that he would give her a chance to show him that she truly couldn't live without him.

And to think that there was a time when she wondered if she could ever feel that way about any man.

Jen reached for his face, gently caressing his cheek. "I'm sorry, Don," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Don closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, and inhaled deeply, "You know… I'm so angry with you."

"I know," she sighed softly, "You have every right to be."

"But," he opened his eyes, those icy blue eyes focusing on her deep brown ones, "Right now, I'm just glad you're here." The corners of his mouth turned up in a broken grin, his features awash with relief.

"Me too," she breathed, "Me too." Her eyes filled with tears then, all of the emotions from the past few weeks accumulating into this one firestorm.

"_I love you."_


	37. Season 1 End Notes

**Season 1 End Notes:**

Thank you very much to the readers who have made it this far! Special thanks to _Lily Moonlight_ for encouraging me to write even when I was taking a break from FanFiction.

This is the end of Season 1 of _Invested._ but not the end of _Invested._! I will begin posting Season 2 next Thursday, September 13.

Just a few things to look forward to:

- A very pregnant Lindsay does some digging in Montana.  
- Adam meets a very attractive redhead who just might prove to be a bit more trouble than necessary.  
- Mac and Stella go official? Of course, not without some trouble.  
- Jess is put into a predicament when her boyfriend is implicated in a murder.  
- Complications arise within a case. Does Sid have more to do with it than he's letting on?  
- A weekend getaway for the Messers and Don and Jen raise some questions for the latter couple's future.

And of course, my overreactive imagination enjoys making ridiculous – hopefully, believable – cases. Plus, we see the return of some characters from the Beta force universe with the introduction of a shady figure from Jen's past, shoving Don straight into the straits of danger.

We'll see where Season 2 leads us then jump into _Invested: Blue_, a CSI: NY/Hawaii Five-0 crossover following Don and Jen on a vacation to Hawaii. Then, depending on how I feel at the end of Season 2, we'll jump into more seasons of _Invested._ or just go straight into _Invested: Blind_, set years later and is a look into the personal lives of the characters as they go through some severely trying times. I have yet to decide whether I will post up _Invested: Photographs_, a fic covering some key events from 2002 to the start of _Invested._ (includes stories involving Aiden, Jen in known CSI cases, Aiden/Danny drama, et. Al.).

Thanks again! I hope you enjoyed reading and will continue reading and/or consider reading the other _Invested. _related titles.

* * *

**Now a short preview:**

Mac peered into the open car door, eyeing the body sitting in the driver's seat. A woman lay back in the chair, her head resting against the headrest with her hands folded neatly in her lap. He noticed the many ridges and callouses that roughened her hands. _Overworked hands, tired hands. _Rambunctious red curls framed her square face, weary skin stretched tightly over tired bones. Every feature was a sharp angle in that plane, hardened even in death by years of strenuous life, but her vacant eyes were soft, as docile as a doe, and the detective found himself staring at those gray irises reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Vic's name is Monica Belmont, age 44," Jess said purposefully, walking up behind him. Mac straightened up, looking towards her. "She's a single mom, works three jobs - hotel maid in the morning, waitress in the afternoons, and hospital receptionist in the evenings. Has two kids, a 19 year old son and a 14 year old daughter - daughter's at her sister's, son is in his dorm. Uniforms are on their way to notify them."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Mr. Patterson," Jess waved her pen at the balding middle-aged man standing at the police line, "Next-door neighbor, he was going out for a late lunch and saw her."

Mac scanned the other houses adjoining the vic's, other curious neighbors were peeking between their blinds and standing in their doorways, "Any witnesses?"

"We're still getting statements from the neighbors but the general consensus is that they didn't see anything and they didn't hear anything," she replied dryly.

"Huh," Mac raised a brow, looking at the messy cut across the vic's neck. Jagged and irregular, there was no way this had been done quietly. _Unless she had been sedated... But the eyes..._

Jess followed his gaze, offering a suggestion, "Dump job?"

"Maybe," he replied, shining a light on the dead woman's feet which were bare, "Could explain why she has no shoes."

Jess raised an eyebrow, "'Maybe?'"

Mac then turned his flashlight upon the steering wheel, a few drops of red glistened back at them, "Blood on the wheel - size of the drops indicates medium velocity spatter."

"What about the rest of the blood?" she pointed at the neck then at the drops, "That ugly gash couldn't have spurted only that much."

He raised a finger, reaching down into his kit for his spray bottle. Lightly squeezing the trigger, he sprayed the dashboard and windshield with Luminol.

"I'm guessing the blue glow isn't a good sign," Jess commented.

Mac nodded, "Bleach - our perp cleaned up after himself."

"So," she gestured at the car with her hands, "This _is _the primary crime scene? What's up with the shoelessness?"

"It's a weekday afternoon," Mac countered, eyeing the spectators, "What's with nobody noticing a thing in broad daylight?"


	38. Chapter 36: Corporate Assets Part 1 & Si

**_Invested._ **(Season 2)  
**Chapter 36: Corporate Assets Part 1 | Simple Rituals Part 1 | Daddy's Little Girl Part 1**

* * *

Already having taken the preliminary crime scene photos, Hawkes stared down at the body lying in a pool of blood. The man looked about 45, wearing a tailored navy blue suit with a heavy gray coat on top. The vic lay on his stomach, clutching a black briefcase in his left hand by his side with his right hand fisted near his head. He looked like a normal businessman, returning to work after his lunch break - one of many that inhabited the city.

Crouching down Hawkes inspected the obvious COD - a bullet wound through the upper body. _Entry at the back. Impact forced the man to crumple forwards. _Hawkes lifted the man slightly by the shoulder. _A clear exit hole in the chest. A through and through._ He glanced back at the entry wound, comparing its location to the exit wound's. _Entry and exit placed apart. Exit wound lower than entry wound._ He looked towards the cement laid out before the man but didn't see anything at first glance. _No objects to obstruct the path of the bullet. A more in-depth search needed. _The angle of the wound tract showed that the bullet would have entered the ground - he would search the pavement next. _The shooter shot from above._ He turned his gaze to his left, looking upwards at the short building erected there. He eyed the long patio on the second floor - tables with overturned chairs on their surfaces told him that it was most likely the outer attachment to a restaurant that was currently closed. _Likely site of shooting. _He would have to ask Flack to get in touch with the owner. He once again turned back to the man, leaning forwards to pat him down. _No wallet. No loose change. Nothing. Odd. _

"Talk to me, Hawkes."

The coffee skinned man grinned as he lifted his face, squinting into the sun. The tall, slender female smiled back as she stepped into the sun's direct glare, providing the man some respite.

"Thanks," he nodded, glad to see her, "I see Mac's finally let you come out."

Jen wrinkled her nose as she set down her kit, "I had to convince Stella too - those two were plotting to keep me home for another week."

Hawkes chuckled, "They're just watching out for you."

"I think two months of forced vacation was plenty," she frowned slightly but her next words were mixed with both amusement and exasperation, "Though Don was quite happy with their decision."

Hawkes just gave her a knowing look - there wasn't a single person in the lab that didn't know just how protective Flack was of his long-time partner. "Well, you gave him a scare - we all knew he'd up the 'protective boyfriend' routine," he grinned mischievously, "Funny that you didn't expect that!"

Lovely Jen had given them _all _a scare. Though it had been almost three months since the incident with Pennington, the different memories of the event were still quite vivid in everyone's mind. Known contract killer Cooper Pennington had surfaced in New York City as a suspect in the murder of a school teacher the CSIs had been investigating. The incident had escalated into something that went beyond simple murder when the FBI had contacted the lab, identifying their school teacher as an active FBI Special Agent on a covert assignment. It was slowly revealed that Jen was involved in the situation when the friend she had gone to D.C. to help turned out to be that same FBI agent. Her involvement in the incident had led to some serious personal injuries and almost resulted in her death - they had all almost lost a close friend.

"Yeah, yeah," Jen sniffed, waving away his comment, "Thanks for reminding me that my relationship with Don is still one of the most popular bits of office gossip."

_A close friend who had evidently been a covert operative for the CIA in her past._

"Well, you shouldn't have let Danny figure it out," Hawkes laughed, "At the time, he even came by the M.E.'s office to spread that bit of news."

"God, Messer," she laughed as she crouched down, remembering the not so subtle way Danny had made her relationship with Don _very _public knowledge.

"He's a bit incorrigible," Hawkes shrugged.

"'_A bit_?'" she snorted. Hawkes carefully looked at the Asian woman who settled on her haunches across from him, snapping on her gloves to take a look at the body he had been inspecting.

It was hard to believe that this capable detective was also a skilled agent who boasted an illustrious career with an elusive special task force, her skill sets vast and just as mysterious as her accomplishments. Though they had been told that she was a very competent and successful agent and that her many endeavors had saved both Uncle Sam and his pocketbook a good many times, they hadn't been told any details - her friends from the CIA gave the usual, "I could tell you but then I would have to kill you." response and she skillfully dodged their inquiries. It left them all curious, left with wondering, teased minds, but, as all things involving the government's clandestine divisions tended to be, they were forced to muse over their questions with no clear answers.

_They weren't even sure if Jen was really as inactive as her best friend Eames Shacks, CIA Clandestine Ops's Director of Public Affairs, assured them she was._

" - Hawkes?"

The man focused on Jen's inquiring face, directing his attention back to the task at hand, "Sorry - what did you say?"

"Earth to Doctor Hawkes," she said teasingly, "I asked when your estimated TOD is."

"Oh," he gave a little shake of his head as he bent over the body again, "I'd guess less than two hours ago - rigor hasn't set in and lividity's at minimum. But," he raised a finger, eyeing the man's hair, "There was an odd shower of rain that started about an hour ago and rained down real heavy for a good ten minutes."

She followed his gaze, realizing what he was getting at, "His hair's rather immaculate. He must have shielded his head from the rain which means he was still alive at the time of the shower."

"Making TOD sometime within the last 40 to 50 minutes," Hawkes nodded, exchanging a small, gratified grin with his fellow CSI, "Glad to be back?"

"You have _no _idea," Jen let out a relieved laugh, getting to her feet. Her eyes searched the faces of the people crowding up against the police line, "Any witnesses?"

"Nope," Hawkes stood up shaking his head, "This plaza is supposed to be completely empty due to construction. Barricades and signs at every point of entry."

Jen turned back around to glance over at the deserted construction site behind Hawkes, "It's a weekday - I'd think that the workers would be busy."

"Flack called up the construction company to ask about that," Hawkes pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand, "The workers were all called in about two hours ago for a mandatory luncheon with the owner and the mayor."

She raised an eyebrow, "What for?"

"Corporate pomp and glamor."

Jen turned back, smiling at Flack who had called out rather dryly as he approached them, "I was wondering where you were at."

The man grinned down at her as he came to stand next to her, waving the notebook in his hand, "Doing my job - you know how it is."

Hawkes loudly cleared his throat, raising his eyebrow at the two detectives that turned their attention towards him. "And?" he asked of Flack, an amused smile on his lips. Though their words were quite harmless and their actions quite proper, the affection in their eyes when they looked at each other was almost palpable. "Did the mom have anything to say?"

"Nope," Flack shrugged, "Just hysterical and wanting to get her little boy home."

"A mother discovered the body?" Jen asked.

"Her four-year-old crawled under the barricade," Hawkes explained, "She followed him and discovered our John Doe."

Her eyebrow shot up, "'John Doe?'" She turned her gaze down towards the vic, "He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would go out without his wallet."

"Or his keys," Hawkes added nodding, "But there was nothing in his pockets."

Jen pointed at the briefcase at her feet, "How about this?" She knelt down, lifting the briefcase out of the man's loose grip. She flipped it over, frowning at her discovery.

"What?" Hawkes asked, noticing her disappointment.

She flipped the briefcase's front in his direction, showing him the undone silver clasp before propping it up on her thigh to inspect the interior.

"Find anything?" Flack peered over her shoulder.

She shook her head, looking up at him, "Empty." She turned back to Hawkes, handing him the bag across the body, "Can you bag it? - We can dust it for prints later."

"Don't you have any bags?" Hawkes said with mock irritation, snatching the briefcase from her grasp.

"Obviously," she replied defensively, jerking her head in the direction of her kit. "I just ran out of the big ones at my last crime scene."

"This is your second?" Hawkes raised an eyebrow.

"Third," she corrected, taking a look at the bullet tract. She glanced up at him, "I had one with Jess in the morning then another one with Pat before this one."

"Pat Harley?" Flack said sharply.

Jen slightly made a face – most likely silently admonishing herself for mentioning the lovesick young officer of the 84th – before she looked up at Don with a reassuring smile, "Yeah. Don't worry, I said no - I think he's _slowly_ starting to give up."

"I wasn't worried," he replied quickly, flipping through his notebook.

Jen and Hawkes met eyes amusedly, the latter rolling his eyes slightly. She returned to her inspection of the entry and exit wounds, coming to a conclusion. "A through and through."

"Yep," Hawkes jumped to his feet, nodding, "I was just about to look for it."

"Angle of the tract indicates that the shooter shot from above," she looked up.

"Restaurant patio," Hawkes agreed, looking towards Flack, "Think you can get a uniform up there?"

"I'll head up there myself," Flack nodded, waving over one of the officers at the police line, "I'll get in touch with the owner - get you guys complete access."

"Thanks," Hawkes gave a nod, turning to search for the bullet.

Jen stood up, calling after him, "You done?"

"Yep," he replied over his shoulder, his eyes fixed upon the pavement.

"Alright." She turned to wave over the waiting medevac team.

It took a few steps and a few seconds to scan the area a couple times for Hawkes to find the prize. "Found it!" he called out, kneeling.

Jen walked quickly over, settling on the pavement next to him. Hawkes pulled on the part that was visible, gently tugging on it with his forceps – to his surprise, it came free of the cement quite easily. Jen glanced at it, the words jumping to her lips, "Bullet's from a .300 Win Mag. One shot. Looks like we have a sniper."

Hawkes looked over at her with an entertained smile at her speedy response. She winced slightly, adding, "I think."

"Oh - I don't doubt your preliminary assessment," he laughed, "I'm just amused by your eagerness."

She gave a sheepish smile, jokingly retorting, "I've still got it."

He chuckled, turning his gaze towards the patio, "Think there's a chance that our shooter was sloppy and left behind a cartridge?"

She shrugged, "Well an optimistic detective _can_ hope. But with our luck," she trailed off, getting to her feet.

"Hey," he shot her a glance, jumping upright, "I thought we were being optimistic."

She grinned, giving him a half shove with her elbow, "_You_ be optimistic - I'll stick to being _realistic._"

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Stella ducked under the police tape, curiously eyeing the scantily clad teenagers. They all looked to be in the 18 to 20 range, all stripped down to their underwear and covered in red goo. She shook her head, noting the distinct smell of strawberry flavoring in the air. A quick glance into the swimming pool confirmed her suspicions - the swimming pool had been filled three feet deep with strawberry flavored Jell-O. _Crazy rich kids._

"Yo, Stell!" Danny called from across, waving. She smiled, quickly walking around to the other side. He shifted from one foot to the other, pushing up his glasses with a hand - ever so antsy. He waved the greeting hand towards the pool, a half horrified-half amused look upon his face, "Can you believe this?"

"I thought Jell-O wrestling was supposed to be a turn-on or something for males," Stella shrugged, nodding in the direction of the girls in their lingerie.

Danny raised his hands in defense, "Hey - I am a firm believer in not playing with my food."

"I believe you," she replied with a smile.

"Danny!"

The two detectives looked in the direction of the pool steps on the other side. Adam slouched there in thigh-length waders, his face a total mask of defeat. "Are you sure?" he called out morosely.

"Yeah!" Danny gave him a thumbs up, "I'm sure!"

The scruffy lab tech heaved a huge sigh, snapping on a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves. "Hi, Stella," he called out in a dull monotone.

"Hey, Adam," she waved, shielding her eyes from the sun. She looked at Danny, raising an eyebrow, "Is he...?"

"Yep," Danny nodded, a happy grin on his face, "We have to check for evidence – the pool was at the center of the crime scene."

Stella laughed, shaking her head at Danny's mischievous attitude, "And you volunteered poor Adam."

"Someone had to do it!" he said defensively, "_I _wasn't about to do it - do _you_ want to do it?"

"I'm your boss," she replied immediately, pointing a finger at him. "I moved up from these kinds of jobs."

"See!" Danny nodded rapidly, "_Someone_ had to do it - so we turn to the, to quote Adam, 'low man on the totem pole.'"

Adam gave a groan as each step took him farther out into the aromatic goo. As his booted feet squelched further into the fruity mess, he called out desperately, "Danny! At least buy me a drink or something after this!"

"I've got to start saving money for diapers, Adam!" Danny snickered.

"_Not_ cool, bro!"

"Oh," Stella turned to Danny, a thought occurring to her, "How's Lindsay? - I forgot to ask earlier - Did she make the trip safely?"

The 23 weeks pregnant Lindsay had taken maternity leave, returning to Montana for the last few months of her pregnancy. A few days before she left, Danny had finally convinced her to marry him – to his and everyone else's delight - though it took dragging her to City Hall for her to see just how serious he was about the marriage thing. Mac and Stella had happily accompanied them as witnesses.

"Yep!" Danny grinned, "The in-laws are feeding her massive meals so she's happy." He gave a little shake of his head, "But enough about my _almost-six-months-pregnant-wife _- "

" - you are _really_ living it up," she shook her head with mirth.

"It'll wear off someday," he waved his left hand dismissively, the gold ring gleaming in the light, "But at the moment? Let me enjoy having a Mrs. Messer."

"Oh no, please go ahead," Stella bit back a laugh, "I don't mind - it's cute."

"Stop laughing at the newlywed," Danny said with a pout, jerking a thumb backwards, "Let's focus on the dead body - that's a safe subject."

Stella turned around, giving her attention to the tall maple tree, heavy with green leaves, behind them. "It looks quite healthy - are you sure the tree's dead?" she barely managed to keep her shameless grin away.

Danny rolled his eyes, "Ha ha, Stell - you're killing me here." He moved towards the tree, waving for her to follow.

Stella followed him to the other side of the tree, her eyes focusing on the body of a young blonde lying in the shade. She was about 5'5", her gangly form closer to skinny than slender. She barely filled out the purple bra she wore and the matching panties with a brand name told Stella that their vic enjoyed expensive merchandise but, considering where they were, that didn't come as a surprise. The girl was covered in the strawberry Jell-O like her friends, but unlike her friends she was also covered in blood from a gaping incision across her abdomen. Stella noticed uncomfortably that the girl's eyes were still open, wide with shock and fear. She crouched down, reaching out with a gloved finger to shut those cerulean eyes. _She looks so young._

"How old is she?"

"Norma Pierson, age 16," Danny answered, "She's the girlfriend of the kid running this party, 18 year old Paolo Rivera. This is the Rivera home, mom and dad are taking a cruise in the Caribbean and junior is conveniently missing. We have unis looking for him right now."

Stella stood up, waving the stretcher over, "Who found her?"

"Two kids who stumbled behind the tree hoping to do a quick one," Danny jabbed a thumb in the direction of the couple sitting at one of the far tables. "Vic's friends say that they last saw her dancing with the boyfriend about half an hour ago - they assumed that the lovebirds had gone inside the house to have a private party."

Stella eyed Danny's open kit on the ground, "Please tell me that's the murder weapon."

"Hopefully," Danny lifted the bag, "Fruit knife from the Riveras's kitchen."

"So are we liking this Rivera kid for this?" Stella asked, raising an eyebrow.

"From what I hear from the partyers and the housekeeper, he's a decent kid," Danny shrugged, "Until we get back to the lab, I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt but _his_ house, _his_ knife, last seen with the vic, _and _currently missing?"

Stella pursed her lips, nodding, "Makes him a likely suspect."

"Yeah but of course," Danny turned to look at the other 30 some odd teenagers clustered in various clumps on the rooftop area, "We _do _have a houseful of other possibles..."

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Mac peered into the open car door, eyeing the body sitting in the driver's seat. A woman lay back in the chair, her head resting against the headrest with her hands folded neatly in her lap. He noticed the many ridges and callouses that roughened her hands. _Overworked hands, tired hands. _Rambunctious red curls framed her square face, weary skin stretched tightly over tired bones. Every feature was a sharp angle in that plane, hardened even in death by years of strenuous life, but her vacant eyes were soft, as docile as a doe, and the detective found himself staring at those gray irises reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Vic's name is Monica Belmont, age 44," Jess said purposefully, walking up behind him. Mac straightened up, looking towards her. "She's a single mom, works three jobs - hotel maid in the morning, waitress in the afternoons, and hospital receptionist in the evenings. Has two kids, a 19 year old son and a 14 year old daughter - daughter's at her sister's, son is in his dorm. Uniforms are on their way to notify them."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Mr. Patterson," Jess waved her pen at the balding middle-aged man standing at the police line, "Next-door neighbor, he was going out for a late lunch and saw her."

Mac scanned the other houses adjoining the vic's, other curious neighbors were peeking between their blinds and standing in their doorways, "Any witnesses?"

"We're still getting statements from the neighbors but the general consensus is that they didn't see anything and they didn't hear anything," she replied dryly.

"Huh," Mac raised a brow, looking at the messy cut across the vic's neck. Jagged and irregular, there was no way this had been done quietly. _Unless she had been sedated... But the eyes..._

Jess followed his gaze, offering a suggestion, "Dump job?"

"Maybe," he replied, shining a light on the dead woman's feet which were bare, "Could explain why she has no shoes."

Jess raised an eyebrow, "'Maybe?'"

Mac then turned his flashlight upon the steering wheel, a few drops of red glistened back at them, "Blood on the wheel - size of the drops indicates medium velocity spatter."

"What about the rest of the blood?" she pointed at the neck then at the drops, "That ugly gash couldn't have spurted only that much."

He raised a finger, reaching down into his kit for his spray bottle. Lightly squeezing the trigger, he sprayed the dashboard and windshield with Luminol.

"I'm guessing the blue glow isn't a good sign," Jess commented.

Mac nodded, "Bleach - our perp cleaned up after himself."

"So," she gestured at the car with her hands, "This _is _the primary crime scene? What's up with the shoelessness?"

"It's a weekday afternoon," Mac countered, eyeing the spectators, "What's with nobody noticing a thing in broad daylight?"


	39. Chapter 37: Corporate Assets Part 2 & Si

**_Invested._**(Season 2)  
**Chapter 37: Corporate Assets Part 2 | Simple Rituals Part 2 | Daddy's Little Girl Part 2**

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**N.B. **Chapter 36 has been altered slightly so a review read wouldn't hurt :) Chapter 37 has some fluffy feels to it but over all these three cases remain pretty serious so don't worry (pretty much all business in Chapter 38). For those of you still reading, I'm very sorry for the spotty updates! I really just haven't been feeling inspired... but I recently had an urge to have a re-watch marathon of CSI: NY so my mind's feeling some motivation! Hope you enjoy~

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Flack stood at the doorway, moving aside for the personel leaving the restaurant. The two lead CSIs approached the entrance, closed kits in hand and tired looks upon their faces.

"Any luck?" Flack called towards them as they approached.

Jen shook her head with a frown, "Nope."

"See," Hawkes gave her a playful shove, "You jinxed it."

"No," she replied defensively, "I was just right - realism trumps optimism every time."

"That bad?" Flack raised his brow.

Jen sighed, "Nothing - the whole place is clean."

"Squeaky clean," Hawkes agreed, "We only got GSR - the perp was careful."

Jen pointed at the camera hanging in the opposite corner, asking Flack, "Anything on tape?"

Flack shook his head apologetically, his chat with the security detail at the complex had been less than fruitful, "Wiped clean."

"Damn," she wrinkled her nose. "Oh well," she shrugged spiritedly before tapping a finger on the door handle, "All yours, Hawkes." She swiftly turned, briskly walking towards the elevators.

"Sure," Hawkes offered an exaggerated, mock frown, "Leave the handy-work to the man - that's just sexist, Jen."

"You're the one who mentioned it earlier," Jen winked before turning to the other man, "Let's go, Flack."

"That's just cold," Hawkes shook his head ruefully as he knelt down next to the box of tools left by the door.

She waved a hand backwards, stepping into the elevator, "Have fun!"

Flack grinned, slapping a firm hand on Hawkes's shoulder as he passed, before following Jen, jogging up to the doors just as they were about to close. "Couldn't even hold the elevator for me?" he raised a stern brow, amusement flitting across his lips.

"You were too slow," she stuck her tongue out at him, leaning forward to push the "CLOSE DOORS" button.

Flack shook his head as he chuckled, crossing his arms and settling into his stance. "So," he glanced at her, "What's Hawkes doing?"

Jen fixed her grip on her kit as she stared at the lighted numbers above the doors, "Taking out the door lock."

"I'm assuming you got the owner's permission," he said warily.

"Of course, silly," she said making a face at him before stepping through the opening doors.

He fell in step right behind her, "So why the lock?"

She glanced back at him, "No signs of forced entry so we're going to take the lock apart and see what the perp used to get in - I mean, _Hawkes _will." She said that last bit with a small, slightly evil grin but then continued on with a more defeated tone, "At this point, any bit would be helpful. I'm really hoping Sid has more luck with the body."

Jen quickly made her way through the lobby to the outside and moved past the police line, towards her blue Acura TSX, with purpose in her step.

Flack took long strides to keep up with her. He raised an eyebrow, calling out, "What's the big rush?"

She turned to him, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "I'm a busy woman, Flack. Don't _you_ have work to do too?" she smiled, jamming her keys into the lock.

"We're done here so 'no' for now," he shrugged with a cheeky grin, deftly sliding in between her and the car door.

She took a step back, crossing her arms with a laugh, "So much for acting professional in front of the unis."

He just continued his grin, keeping his mischievous gaze upon her, "Come on - where you going?"

"The lab, silly," she replied glancing over her shoulder self-consciously. Her eyes met with some of the remaining officers who grinned, talking amongst themselves. She raised an eyebrow at Don, "We have an audience."

He followed her gaze, looking at the officers in question who pointedly looked away when his eyes landed on them. He shrugged, turning back to his girlfriend, "Doesn't matter, really. Between Messer and last spring - plus the fact that it's been almost four years - I don't think there's a single guy on the force who doesn't know already." He frowned, "You're quite popular, you know - they talk."

"Oh really?" she gave a wry grin. "Still," she lightly patted his cheek, "Best to keep up appearances - move over, big boy."

He wrinkled his nose, reluctantly moving aside to allow her to open her door and slide into the driver's seat. Placing the kit upon the passenger's seat, Jen pulled her door shut and revved her ignition. She looked at the tall man through the glass, smiling fondly at the exaggerated look of disappointment Flack was throwing at her.

She gave in, lowering her window to lean her head out slightly. "Oh stop making such horrid faces, darl, and get in your car," she said bossily.

He cocked his head curiously, "What for?"

"You're having lunch with me," she snapped back with a mock frown, "And if you're not at the lab, I'm going to eat all the food!"

"Oh?" Flack grinned, "I better hurry then." He saluted before swiftly striding towards his tan Avalon.

She turned away with a smile.

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Stella frowned, watching the last of the teens leave the rooftop. She turned towards Danny who had just gotten off the phone - he didn't look too happy.

"Bad news?"

"A squad car came across the Rivera kid's Porsche," Danny said grimly, "They found Paolo in the trunk."

"I'll head over there," Stella nodded briskly, turning her body to leave, "You finish up here."

"Sure, sure," Danny nodded, swinging in the direction of Adam who now stood at one of the poolside tables, sifting through the items he had fished out of the goop. He stepped up next to the lab tech, wrinkling his nose at the intense odor of artificial strawberries, "Love the cologne, Adam."

"Ha ha," Adam replied weakly, "The smell's starting to give me a headache."

"Well," Danny gestured at the assorted items laid out on the tabletop, "Tell me what you found and I'll share my stash of Advil."

Adam waved a hand over one corner of the table, "Jewelry that probably slipped off during the jello fest." He pointed at the small pile of plastic casings next to the assortment of bracelets and rings, "Condom wrappers." Then he leaned forward, gingerly lifting up a black box, "And this." He handed the object to Danny who looked it over curiously - a rectangular prism three inches wide and five inches long.

"What is it?" he raised a brow at the other man.

Adam crossed his arms anxiously, pressing his lips together, "Open it."

Danny flipped it over in his hand, noticing the small golden clasp holding the box closed. He struggled with the fastening for a moment before he wrested it open, "What the - ?"

"I know, right?" Adam gave a nervous laugh.

Danny snapped the box shut quickly, making a face, "I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Adam shook his rapidly, "I was expecting a dildo or something considering the nature of this party and the size of the box - "

" - _oh_?" Danny remarked.

Adam looked at him defensively, "What's _that _supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" Danny raised his hands in surrender, "I'm just giving a noncommittal response."

Adam continued to look at him suspiciously. "But," he picked up where he left off, eyeing the box in Danny's hand, "I wasn't expecting the real deal."

"Well," Danny carefully set the box down again, picking up his phone, "I'm hoping that Stella finds out that Paolo's the unlucky owner." Adam looked at him curiously. Danny raised an eyebrow, "Well it's got to have come from somewhere – some_one_ –if it's not Paolo's..."

Adam filled in, realization filling his eyes, "Then we have another body."

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Jen smiled broadly, waving her chopsticks at Hawkes, "I see you've made it back!"

Hawkes made his way over to the two eating their takeout, hands on hips, "I see you're still being lazy!"

"Hey," she sniffed, stuffing a piece of General Tso's chicken in her mouth, "Detectives have to eat too!"

Hawkes looked ready to speak again but Flack waved him over, tapping the empty seat next to him then an unopened box on the table with a long finger. He grinned, "She got you some too."

Hawkes gave a grin, quickly sitting down, "Well, in that case..."

Jen gave a chuckle as she slid a pair of chopsticks across the table. Hawkes broke them quickly, digging into his mix of rice, beef, and broccoli. "_Someone_ was hungry," she said with amusement.

Hawkes swallowed the mass in his mouth before making a face at her, "What did you expect? You left me with the lock!"

She rolled her mirth-filled eyes as she picked up her own paper box. "Even _Danny _wouldn't be making this much of a fuss," she grunted out of the corner of her mouth, before shoveling in a mouthful of rice.

Flack raised his eyebrows high, snorting, "Now that's a blatant lie if I ever heard one."

"You're comparing me with Mr. Grumpy?" Hawkes said with a mock look of horror. He waved his chopsticks at Jen who gave him a broad shrug, "Now that's just mean."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jen waved a hand, setting her food down, "I meant Mrs. Messer's husband."

Flack pushed his own box away, giving a reluctant nod, "Yeah, okay - the newlywed probably wouldn't make a fuss." He smacked Hawkes on the back with a grin, "It looks like you're worse than Mr. Grumpy!"

"For now," Hawkes sniffed, turning his full attention back to his food, "I just have to wait for the honeymoon to end."

"Err," Jen scratched her nose, "Probably just another three to four months - don't forget that Messer junior's going to be in the picture soon."

Flack looked up towards the ceiling, "I hope it's a boy."

Jen followed his gaze, raising an eyebrow quizzically, "Does the ceiling know something we don't?"

Flack crossed his arms, continuing his upward gaze, "I'm just hoping someone up there is looking out for Messer junior's future."

Jen blinked, staring at his face, "You're very odd, Don..."

"I think, I know where he's going with that," Hawkes straightened up, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. Jen turned her questioning gaze towards him. He shrugged, smiling widely, "Imagine a little girl with Danny's face."

"Let's just hope that the kid looks more like Lindsay - _whatever_ gender it is," Flack grinned.

Flack and Hawkes exchanged enthusiastic nods as the realization hit Jen. She balled the napkin in her lap, flinging it at Don, "You two are awful!" But she didn't hold back from joining in the laughter.

Don waved a hand, gesturing towards the vibrating object on the tabletop, "Phone!"

Jen continued her laughter, shaking her head as she answered, "Lee."

"_Jen?_" asked a shaky voice, obviously upset.

Her merriment faded, brow crinkling, and she cleared her throat, continuing in a brisk tone, "Yes, who is this?" Though familiar, she was having a hard time placing the young female's voice.

"_It's Emily._"

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Stella sighed as she watched the men cart Paolo Rivera's body to the bus. She nodded towards the tow truck driver, waving him on towards the lab with her free hand. "Not his, Danny," she said into the mouthpiece, swinging towards her own car.

"_Damn. Okay, Adam's taking it to DNA - maybe they can do something with it._"

"Okay," she started her car, "I sent the kid's Porsche back to the lab's garage but I'll stop by the M.E.'s office before I go - maybe Sid has a John Doe missing some parts."

"_Roger that - I'll get started on the car._" _Click._

She tossed her phone in the passenger's seat, pulling into traffic.

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Mac emerged from the dead woman's bedroom. The CSIs had already swept the second floor but he had wanted to take a quick look himself.

"Hey, Mac!"

Mac leaned over the edge of the second floor banister, looking down at Jess who stood at the foot of the steps, "Yeah?"

"I'm going to make you a _very_ happy detective," Jess grinned.

"Oh?" he raised a brow, smiling slightly.

She raised an arm, a gloved hand holding up a blood encrusted bread knife by its handle. Her lips were still fixed in a broad grin, "It's got prints you can lift."

Mac gave a full grin then, "The murder weapon. Where did you find it?"

Jess jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, "Kitchen - it was sitting in the fridge."

"Great," Mac nodded, gesturing towards the two CSIs standing near the front door, "Hand it off to one of them - they'll bag it."

Jess gave the okay sign before turning away. Mac straightened up, moving towards the top of the stairs. _Beep... Beep... Beep..._ He snatched his phone off of his belt, "Taylor."

"_Mac?_"

"What's up, Jen?" he replied quickly, immediately recognizing her voice. He furrowed his brow at the urgency of her tone, "Is something wrong?"

"_Dispatch told me that you're investigating the Monica Belmont case._"

He raised his brow in surprise, "How - "

" - _I know the address. I used to tutor the son about a year ago,_" she sighed, "_Emily - the daughter - called me._"

Mac put a hand on the banister, exhaling, "Jen, you know I can't - "

" _- I know, Mac,_" she said firmly, "_I'm not calling to ask you to let me take this._"

"You have something," he realized.

"_Yes,_" she said quickly, "_You probably haven't heard much from the neighbors - Monica kept to herself._"

He nodded, "The neighbors have been very tight-lipped."

"_She moved to that neighborhood two years ago to get away from her husband,_" she explained, "_She didn't have time to socialize with the number of jobs she had to take to support her kids._"

"She's still married?" he said with slight surprise. There had been no evidence that the husband was still in the picture in any form.

"_Yeah,_" she confirmed, "_Though she left him, they never got an official divorce._"

"I'm guessing that you're suggesting we look into the husband," he deduced.

"_Yeah. Henry Belmont is a volatile man with a hot temper and violent tendencies and Emily says that he recently found out where they lived and has been bothering Monica._ _He's a good a lead as any._"

Mac quickly moved down the stairs, waving over Jess who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She gave him a quizzical glance to which he raised his index finger, continuing to talk into the phone, "I'll have Jess look for him - "

" - _I have something that might help,_" Jen interrupted, "_I managed to get an address but he was evicted about a month ago. I do have his cell number though - I can text Jess the number so she can get someone to triangulate it._"

Mac gave a slight grin, "Sounds like you were quite busy before you called me."

"_Monica was a great woman,_" she said heavily, "_I owe her - and her kids - that much._"

"Of course," he replied knowingly, "We'll get the guy, Jen - don't worry."

"_Thanks, Mac._" _Click._

Jess raised an eyebrow, finally speaking up, "We have a lead?"

"Yeah," Mac placed his phone back upon his belt, meeting her eyes, "Jen's going to text you the number of the husband. We need to find out where he is."

Jess pulled her phone out of her pocket, glancing at the screen as it lit up - _1 New Message from Jen (CSI)_. She waved it at Mac with a nod as she swung away, "I'll get on it."

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Stella clasped her hands behind her back, waiting patiently as Sid finished rinsing down the body on his table. The older man straightened up, slipping off his gloves before removing his glasses. He turned towards the computer behind him, coming face to face with Stella who stood on the other side of the glass. She offered a smile which he met, "Do you have a minute?"

He nodded, waving a hand, "Be there in a second." He typed in a few notes before heading out to meet her. He grinned, clapping his hands together, "So what can I help you with, Stella?"

She gave a wry smile, "This is going to sound rather odd..."

He raised a brow, a bemused expression playing across his face, "In _our_ line of work?"

Stella laughed, "I guess you're right - not many things are that surprising anymore." But she still winced slightly, "It's _still _kind of awkward."

"Try asking it in the most professional tone you can muster," Sid suggested, crossing his arms. "Go on - I'm ready."

"Okay," Stella shrugged embarrassedly, clearing her throat. She paused a moment before straightening up. She gave him a sideways squint, shaking a finger, as she spoke in one breath, "Have you got a body missing its penis?"

"Oh," Sid raised his brow high, "That _is_ rather odd."

"Isn't it?" she wrinkled her nose, "But Danny found one, just not a body to go with it - I was hoping that you might have its owner in a cooler somewhere."

"No," he glanced over his shoulder at the examination room, "I don't think I do." He shrugged apologetically at her, "I mean, I think I would remember a body that was missing its jewels."

She gave a disbelieving snort, "_'Jewels_?'"

"Males value them quite highly," Sid said with a very serious nod, but Stella noticed the corners of his mouth twitching and gave him a playful shove.

"You're not fond of that euphemism, are you?"

Sid sniffed, breaking out into a grin. "I never understood that one," he admitted, continuing with a shrug, "I mean, I get the 'balls' one - "

" - I think we should stop there," she said with a purse of her lips, an apprehensive smile forming on her face. "I'm not sure if I want to have this conversation with you."

"Oh, sorry," Sid gave a laugh, nodding, "So, no - I don't have any bodies for you." He gave a slight shrug, "Sorry, Stell."

She shook her head, waving her hand dismissively, "It's okay." She clapped her hands together, taking a deep breath, "Well, I'll let you get back to work. I've got two of mine waiting, too."

"Well, in that case," he clapped a hand against her arm, smiling, "I'll get right back to it! Wouldn't want to have Bonasera wait longer than she has to!"

She shook her head with a laugh, wagging a finger at him, "Watch it, Hammerback!"

He merely gave her a mock salute, his playful grin still in place, as he speedily entered his compound again.

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Jen strode into the lab, heading straight for Hawkes who was bent over the pieces of the door's lock. She peered over his shoulder, "How's it going?"

He glanced over at her, peering at her through magnified glasses. "You're not going to be happy with my answer," he frowned.

"Dead end?" she sighed, hopping on to the stool next to him.

"It's completely clean except for the usual scratchmarks and there's no significant residue," Hawkes pushed the magnifying goggles onto his head, setting down the forceps, "Looks like he got ahold of a key."

"Damn," Jen heaved a deep breath, crossing her arms, "Okay, so... the two owners each have a key, the manager has a key, and there's a spare hidden in the manager's office - so that's four keys." She frowned even more deeply, "All four are accounted for so it means the perp had a copy made of one of them..." She closed her eyes and heaved another sigh, "_Or _he could have borrowed one and put it back – either of those options could've been done by _anyone_, _anytime – _"

" - hey," Hawkes cut her off, clapping a hand onto her shoulder. She opened her eyes, meeting his steady gaze. "It's still early - _relax. _We've got the keys and we're processing them as we speak." He was a bit surprised at her generalized dramatics.

She winced slightly, "Sorry..."

He looked at her carefully, "Maybe, it's still a bit early for you to - "

She straightened up, a fierce glint entering her eyes, "No way - you are _not_ going to say that."

"I'm just saying, Jen," he raised his hands defensively, "As a friend who's worried about you."

"I know," she sighed, nodding, "Sorry - it means a lot that you care, but it's _not _that. I'm fine." She took a deep breath before giving a sheepish chuckle, "I guess I just need to build up my patience again."

Hawkes kept fixing her with the same look, "Jen - "

" – I'm going to go down to the M.E.'s office and see if Sid's got that body ready," she said quickly, a reassuring smile planted firmly on her lips. Getting to her feet she shook a warning finger at him, "Don't you _dare_ tell Mac or Stella that you think I'm over doing it or that you're worried or any of that nonsense."

He grinned at the stern stare-down she was giving him, "Okay – okay, fine."

She gave him a hearty slap on the arm before turning away.

He cleared his throat, playfully raising his brow, "What about Flack?"

She whirled around to meet his mischievous gaze with a horrified yet amused smirk of her own, "I would _kill_ you."

Hawkes grinned broadly at her spirited answer, "Okay, okay - mum's the word." He swept his clenched thumb and index finger across his mouth.

"That's what I thought," she smiled, giving a curt nod, as she headed out the door. She nodded at Adam who was entering the room, "Hey." She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly pausing as she took a deep sniff, "You smell like fake strawberries."

He winced, "Jell-O. Danny."

She waved a hand, giving a slight laugh, as she continued on her way, "I don't even want to know - I'll see you later, Adam."

"Bye," he replied, glancing over his shoulder to look at her retreating form. He gave a confused look to Hawkes, "So why is she going to kill you?"

Hawkes waved his question away, "It's nothing - what's up?"

"Err," Adam paused, scratching his ear with a furrow of his brows.

Hawkes looked at him amusedly, "You're in the wrong place, aren't you?"

"Ehehehe..." Adam started backing up, an embarrassed look spreading across his face, "I just wanted to say, 'hi.'" He gave small wave, "Hi, Hawkes."

Hawkes waved back, stifling a guffaw, "Hi, Adam."

"Yeah, I," Adam gestured backwards with his thumb, "I - I'm going to - yeah." He swung around, striding out of the room. "Bye, Hawkes!" he called over his shoulder, wincing.

Hawkes finally let out a burst of laughter, "Bye!"


	40. Chapter 38: Daddy's Little Girl Part 3 &

_**Invested.**_ (Season 2)  
**Chapter 38: Daddy's Little Girl Part 3 | Corporate Assets Part 3 | Simple Rituals Part 3**

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Jess strode through the automatic doors with her phone pressed to her ear. She deftly moved out of the way of an approaching wheelchair and jogged across the parking lot, swiftly unlocking her car door as the call went through to voicemail, "Hey, Mac. It's Jess." She slid her keys into the ignition and quickly glanced around before backing out of her spot, "I tracked down Henry Belmont. There's no way he could have killed his wife." Driving to the entrance, she flicked on her turn signal, merging with the approaching traffic, "He's been in the hospital this past week after a car accident - he's not even conscious yet. I'm heading to the sister's to talk with the kids - "

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" - _I hope you've had better luck._" _Click._ Mac deleted the voice message from Jess before placing his phone back on the table. He crossed his arms, surveying the items before him.

The bread knife had tested positive for human blood and DNA testing proved that the blood belonged to Monica Belmont. However, the prints lifted from the handle all came back to the vic. One partial print was discovered among the vic's prints but there had been no hit with any record in AFIS. They had also collected very little from the vic's car, the various hairs matching back to Monica Belmont or Henry Belmont - or being close enough to be filial. The white powder Mac had dusted from the back seat of the car had also been recovered from the house's storage room and one of the bedrooms, assumed to be the son's. Testing had revealed it to be magnesium carbonate which didn't seem suspicious considering that the son was a weightlifter and used such a substance for better grip. A bottle of bleach had been recovered from the top of the home's washing machine with traces of Monica Belmont's blood on the cap. Further testing had been done but no other trace had been recovered.

With their first lead having been crossed off and the currently collected evidence being less than helpful, Mac had no choice but to go out - it was time to meet with Monica Belmont's employers and co-workers.

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Jen's visit to the M.E.'s office had proved to be quite fruitful. Sid had been able to identify their John Doe as a Mr. Carl Poehler - age 47, stockbroker - and that had moved things along. Though their vic's body had provided no more evidence than their crime scene had, the vic's name was something concreteand they could now more precisely pursue their killer.

Jen tapped her toe impatiently, waiting for the receptionist to return with Mr. Poehler's personal assistant. It had been five minutes and the prim young woman was nowhere to be seen. She frowned slightly, sticking her neck out to peer around the corner of the hallway before pulling back to scan the wide lobby. For a weekday afternoon, the office building was strangely devoid of people. She glanced at the clock hanging behind the receptionist's counter again, _Though... it _is _1. People could just be out for lunch._..

Jen bit her lip, frowning as she watched the minute hand creep towards another fifth mark. _Oh forget it, _she sighed, striding in the direction the receptionist had headed. Swiftly turning the corner, she found herself almost colliding with another body. Quickly stepping back, she looked up at the very tall man, immediately struck by his almost perfect, well-developed facial structure. She cleared her throat, embarrassed at the near collision. "I'm sorry," she said briskly, slightly inclining her head.

The man gave an agreeable smile, shaking his head, "My fault entirely."

It was then that Jen noticed the receptionist standing a little off to the side. She raised a brow at the neatly dressed woman, asking, "Is this...?"

The woman gave a nod, gesturing politely with her hands as she introduced them, "This is Mr. Poehler's personal secretary Dan Freedman and this is Detective Lee." She gave a slight bow before returning to her desk.

"Hi," the man managed as he offered his hand, his smile brightening, "Sorry for the wait."

She gave his hand a firm shake, "It's fine." She straightened up considerably, purposefully continuing, "I have a few questions."

"Of course," he nodded, gesturing in the direction from which he came. "Shall we speak in my office?"

"Sure," she nodded, stepping into stride with the man.

Freedman gave a good-natured laugh, drawing her curious gaze. He gave a sheepish shrug, the grin still upon his lips, "Frankly, when Didi said that the police were here, I expected a no-nonsense middle-aged male detective."

She offered a small smile in return, shrugging, "I was expecting a young 20-something-year-old blonde female - I guess we were both disappointed."

"Oh, who said anything about disappointment," Freedman admonished with a light chuckle. He pushed open the double glass doors at the end of the hallway, leading the way towards a second doorway within the smaller complex, "Here we are." He opened the door, holding it open with one long arm as he offered a courteous nod, "After you."

Jen raised her brow, the faintest smile of amusement on her lips. "Thanks," she said dryly, entering the room.

He fixed her with an intense gaze, smiling amiably, "My pleasure."

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Jess smiled sympathetically as Tyler Belmont put a beefy arm around his younger sister who had begun to cry. "Maybe you should take a break, Em," the 19-year-old glanced over his shoulder, calling, "Aunt Susan!"

Susan Harrison, Monica Belmont's older sister, re-entered the living room with a cup of water in hand. She noticed the distressed sibling and swiftly set the cup down on the coffee table in front of Jess before moving towards Emily. "Let's go into the kitchen, Em," she said gently, guiding the young girl towards the hallway.

"Thank you for the water, Mrs. Harrison," Jess nodded.

The older woman tossed a hurried smile over her shoulder, acknowledging Jess's comment, before disappearing into the doorway with Emily.

Jess turned her gaze back to Tyler who sat on the couch, staring off into space. He ran a hand through his bleached short-cropped hair, an incomprehensible look upon his face. She waved her hand slightly, offering an apologetic smile when he finally focused back on her, "Sorry Tyler but I just have a few more questions."

"Sure, sure," he nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees as he clasped his hands together.

Jess glanced down at her notebook before locking her brown eyes on his green ones, "Before your sister brought up your father as a possible suspect, you mentioned that there was something at work - specifically, _someone_ - that was bothering your mother for a long time. Could you elaborate?"

"Well," Tyler took a deep breath as he shrugged, "I don't really know much about it. I just remember hearing my mom talking on the phone with someone about some guy named Carl."

Jess nodded, urging him on, "What did she say exactly?"

"Um," he scratched his ear, pursing his lips in concentration, "Stuff about how she might have to find another job if he didn't stop harassing her."

"'Harass' in what way?" Jess raised a brow.

The boy offered another shrug, "I'm not sure but it sounded like she was real fed up with whatever he was doing. She kept saying, 'I'm so done,' 'I'm so through,' and 'It's ridiculous.'"

"Would you know the name of the person she was talking to on the phone, by any chance?"

He shook his head, "I'm not sure, but it could have been Molly. She works - worked - with my mom." He explained, "They talked about lousy tippers before they got on the subject of Carl and, as far as I know, Molly's the only waitress she really got close with."

Jess nodded, scribbling down the words "Carl," "diner," and "Molly." She tapped her pen against her knee, tilting her head slightly to the side to give the boy a careful look, "I realize that this is a rather difficult subject but did you think - like your sister did - that your father was somehow involved?"

He straightened up, a somber expression on his face. "I considered it," he admitted. "He was always a violent man but he's been really watching himself since I graduated, trying to become a better guy so he can be an okay dad for Emily. Plus," he shook his head, "He's been in the hospital for the past week so it's impossible that he did it."

She straightened up, reaching into her vibrating pocket for her phone. She glanced at the caller ID before offering Tyler an apologetic nod, "I have to take this."

"Sure."

She got to her feet, moving towards the hallway. "Hey, Mac," she answered, "Did you get my message?"

"_Yeah. Just letting you know that I spoke with the hotel staff that our vic worked closely with._" He seemed unperturbed by his following conclusion, "_Hotel's a dead end._"

She glanced over her shoulder at Tyler whose gaze was fixed on some distant point in the opposite direction. She still lowered her tone a notch, "You should head to the diner next. The son just told me that there was a guy named Carl that was harassing her at work. Try and see if you can find a waitress named Molly - apparently she was relatively close to the vic."

"_Okay, thanks - I'll head there now._"

She pocketed her notebook and pen, walking back towards the couches, "I'll meet you at the hospital when I'm done here."

"_Sounds like a plan - see you soon._

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Danny furrowed his brow as he tapped his chin, staring at the magnified sample on the display. Adam sidled up next to him, blinking at the dark particles on the screen, "Er, what are you looking at?"

"Flint," the spectacled man replied, glancing over at his equally scruffy partner, "There were pieces of it in the car plus Sid just sent up the kid's clothes and I found the same pieces near the cut in the shirt."

"Flint, as in the type of rock?" Adam confirmed.

Danny nodded, "Yep."

Adam continued to curiously inspect the image, "What's so special about it?"

"Honestly?" Danny sighed, sliding his glasses off to rub his eyes, "I'm not sure yet. Did you get anything on the fruit knife?"

The younger man shoved his hands into his backpockets, shifting his weight to his toes. He apologetically shrugged, gesturing at the files he had placed on the table earlier, "Not the murder weapon - at least, not for the girl."

Danny raised a brow, tossing his glasses on the tabletop as he fell backwards into the chair, "I'm guessing you ran the blood."

"Yep," Adam nodded energetically, "Blood on the knife came back a match to the - the..." He cleared his throat, lamely finishing, "Surprise in the box."

Danny let out a chuckle, slapping a hand against Adam's shoulder, "Eh, come on, Adam - we're both grownups."

"Doesn't make it any less awkward," Adam wrinkled his nose. "Anyway, no ID was made - there must still be a body out there."

"What about the prints?"

"No matches," Adam said dismally, "Except to the prints you lifted from the car."

"One perp, three bodies?" Danny shook his head, "Man, this guy got busy."

Adam scratched the back of his ear, "I'll say."

Danny shifted in his chair, pulling out his phone from his pocket. A grin lit up across his face as he glanced down at the caller ID. He hurriedly nodded at Adam as he strode towards the door, "Have to take this."

Adam smiled amusedly, calling after him, "Say hi to the missus for me!"

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Flack kept his temper in check as he stared down at the callous, young woman standing before him. They had discovered that Carl Poehler's wife had died five years ago but that he was survived by his 23 year old daughter - the fine young specimen standing before him in her too-high heels and too-tight dress who had married her father's former business partner last year. He pointedly kept his eyes on her face, having eyed her considerable cleavage and flashy jewelry at the beginning of their encounter.

_Why was it that the term "gold-digger" came to mind?_

Flack took a deep, calming breath before he spoke, "Mrs. Harris - "

" - look," the short-haired brunette snapped, glancing at her watch as she impatiently glared up at him. "I already told you what I know - and yeah, I know it isn't much but dad and I never had a particularly good relationship."

_I wonder why_, he gave an inward snort. Patiently, he tried again, "If you could just please - "

" - I'm done talking with you," she said shortly, snapping out her compact mirror and holding it up high to check her eyes. "If you have any more questions, you can talk to my lawyer."

It was moments like this that Flack wondered why he even bothered. He mustered a tight smile, forcing his tone to remain even, "Thank you for your time."

He turned on his heel with a severe roll of his eyes, reaching for his phone.

"Hey - wait!"

_Oh, Miss Cake-Up wants to talk now?_ He pivoted, keeping his face blank, "Yes?"

She gave a toss of her severely set bob, heaving a world-weary sigh before pursing her lips with a great deal of attitude, "Try talking to my husband."

Flack raised a brow, "Where can I find Mr. Harris?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, tossing her compact back into her voluminous leather purse. "Try 175 Carroll Street, some broad named Emily Parker - he usually goes there when I kick him out of the house."

He gave a momentary pause, blinking, before nodding his head slowly, "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," she shot back, teetering around and prancing down the sidewalk.

Flack watched her wobble away with another roll of his eyes as he speed dialed.

"_Hey, Flack,_" Jen answered readily, "_Got anything from the daughter?_"

"No," he sniffed, distastefully shaking his head as he moved towards his car, "She just referred me to her lawyer and her husband but seeing as her husband used to work with her dad, that's not such a bad place to go next."

"_So where are you headed?_"

"175 Carroll Street, apparently," he said, hand resting on the door handle. "What about you? Get anything from the secretary?"

"_He didn't have much to say,_" she replied, slight hesitation in her voice, "_But there was something _off _about him._"

"'Off?'" he raised a brow.

"_Nothing concrete - just a hunch. I gave Hawkes a call - he's asking around._"

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" - thank you very much," Hawkes nodded briskly into his phone, striding down the hall. "I'll be in touch." Ending the call, he quickly jogged towards the elevators and caught the closing doors. He smiled apologetically at the pair of female lab technicians who politely moved to one side to accommodate him. He quickly hit the button for the ground-floor as he dialed. Bouncing impatiently on his toes, his eyes watched the numbers light up in order as he waited for the call to go through.

"_Hi, Hawkes - sorry, I was on the phone with someone else,_" Jen said quickly.

"It's fine," Hawkes said as he offered a smile to the two women who nodded at him as they exited the elevator.

"_I'm guessing you found something?_"

"Yeah," Hawkes nodded, continuing on with a more serious expression. "I started with the basics and found that your PA has a criminal record."

"_Anything interesting?_"

"Not really - a series of DUIs in his college years and a number of drunk and disorderly charges back in '03 and '04," Hawkes said with a disapproving frown. "Stupid and reckless but nothing particularly criminal."

"_'A number?'_" she repeated with aversion, "_God, he's a murder just waiting to happen._"

"Well, at least it seems like he's turned over a new leaf," Hawkes comforted, "No incidents since August 2004."

"_None that we know of,_" she countered pointedly.

Hawkes gave a wry grin as he shifted the phone to his other ear so he could retrieve his keys from his pockets, "Always so suspicious but very warranted in this case."

"_How so?_"

"Freedman is related to Robert Harris, Carl Poehler's former business partner," Hawkes replied speedily, sliding into his car. "And Uncle Bob is very fond of his nephew."

"How _fond?_"

"_Very_," Hawkes said distastefully, "I did some digging. You would not believe the outrageous sum of money Harris has spent on Freedman for bail and lawyers alone. Also, Harris is friends with the judge that presided over all of Freedman's cases."

"_But how does it relate?_" Jen said with a touch of confusion, "_We can't link Poehler's murder to them just because we know they're dirty._"

"I'm saying that the affection could go both ways," he shrugged, "It would explain why Freedman applied for the PA job _after_ Poehler forced Harris out. From what I've uncovered, Poehler eliminated Harris by pretty much turning the whole company against him. There's a possibility that Harris was using Freedman to somehow get to Poehler. Who's to say that murder wasn't on his mind?"

"_Sounds reasonable. I'm guessing you're on your way to talk to Harris?_"

"Yep, are you meeting me there?" he asked, rushing into traffic.

"_Flack's on his way already._" A touch of amusement filtered through her next words, "_I'm sure the two of you can handle it._"

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Sid scratched his neck, gesturing in the general direction of the corpses' abdomens. "I think COD is pretty obvious," he said baldly.

Stella winced, nodding as she eyed the stitched up gashes, "Exsanguination."

"Yep," Sid crossed his arms, "One long jagged cut across the diaphragm - no unusual trace except for the black flecks I sent up to Danny with the clothes."

"You're telling me that you didn't find anything?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Now, when did I say that!" he sniffed defensively, a small smile twitching upon his lips.

She chuckled, "Well, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?"

"Well," he tapped his chin, thoughtfully blinking at the ceiling, "Technically, it was because I _didn't _find anything that I _did _find something."

Stella snorted, elbowing the M.E. ever so slightly, "Come on, Sid - out with it!"

"The ever impatient beauty," Sid tutted, turning away. He waved a hand over his shoulder, "Come along."

Stella shook her head, an amused smile upon her lips as she followed him - a gesture quickly erased by the swift wave of Sid's hand towards the clear containers lined up on the cart set against the opposite wall. She winced slightly, her eyes jumping from the colored masses in the containers to Sid and back, "I'm assuming that you have a good reason for keeping their organs lying around?"

Sid offered a shrug, "To make a point."

Stella raised a brow at his solemn tone, "Which is...?"

"Stella," Sid asked pensively, "In your opinion, what's the most overrated organ of the human body?"

"The brain," she immediately replied with a wry smile.

"Oh?" he raised an amused brow, "That's quite interesting coming from a scientist."

She offered a shrug, "Hey – it's the first organ that came to mind. Why? What's _your _answer?"

"The heart," he replied swiftly, obviously delighted that she asked, "At least, in the metaphoric sense – scientifically, it's a rather nice organ."

"Okay," she laughed, "Where are you going with this?"

He gestured at the containers again, "Notice anything _missing_?"

Stella looked, her brow furrowing, "You mean, you're saying…?"

"Yes," Sid gave a purse of his lips, crossing his arms across his chest, "The bodies were missing their hearts."


End file.
